


The Trouble With Miles

by woodironbone



Series: The O'Brien Family Band [1]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Drunken Confessions, Drunken Kissing, Emotional Support, Everyone is Bisexual, F/M, Gift Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Julian is awkward, Keiko is just generally in charge, Keiko is the instigator, M/M, Miles doesn't know how to feelings, Multi, Mutual Pining, One Big Happy Family, POV Multiple, Polyamory, Pre-Threesome, Present Tense, Shenanigans, implied Garak/Bashir, seasons 1-3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-10 17:17:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8925649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woodironbone/pseuds/woodironbone
Summary: And now the story of a wide-eyed doctor and a grumbling engineer who just couldn't seem to resolve their own overwhelming mutual romantic tension, and the one wife who had to resort to schemes to bring them all together.An examination of scenes from a variety of episodes, and some extrapolation.





	1. Overtures

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FitzKreiner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FitzKreiner/gifts).



> Merry Christmas AJ :) Now you know why I suddenly demanded a list of good Julian/Miles/Keiko episodes, and the driving force behind all the DS9 rewatching - apart from it just being fun. And if all goes well this is just the beginning.
> 
> Part 1 of a planned series about a big poly O'Brien-centric family that will come to include Garak and Kira as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue in this chapter comes from S1e13 - The Storyteller

Julian regards Chief O'Brien's back, the only view of the man he's been afforded for the past two hours: sitting hunched over the runabout's navigation console, tilting his head from side to side like a particularly patient bird, calmly noting every little detail. Focused, always; difficult to read, in general, and especially from the back.

For two hours Julian has tried, without much success, to focus his attention on reading—first reviewing the mission brief, but there just isn't much to it, just a remote Bajoran village in some sort of undefined medical distress—then medical papers he's been meaning to catch up on, but these don't much hold his interest. In the end, he keeps putting the datapads back down. He's far more interested in the Chief of Operations.

He's not sure what started the fascination, exactly—'gruff and silent mechanic' has never stood out as a type he normally goes for, but more and more he finds he can't help himself. Beneath that hard, taciturn exterior is dry wit and a blistering intelligence to which he is irrepressibly drawn. Of course there's been nothing so far to indicate the interest is mutual, but Julian has always been an optimist. If they could just have a proper conversation, surely...

But here they are, on a trip he's been looking forward to all day, and they've barely exchanged more than formal pleasantries. He feels like a fool. What did he expect, anyway, from an older married man, an introvert, an officer who's lived through hardships Julian can only imagine?

Well. Friendship would be nice.

"Chief," he says finally, after a lot of false starts, "may I ask you a question?"

"Of course." O'Brien doesn't move, doesn't turn around, fingers still tracking skillfully over the console.

"And I'd like an honest answer," Julian is quick to add. He means this sincerely, and he generally does not fear criticism, but nonetheless he feels a small burst of anxiety as he voices it.

O'Brien snorts. "You'll get one."

Julian draws a quiet breath. He can do it. He's braced. "Do I... annoy you?"

The Chief stops short, looking up, but still he doesn't quite manage to turn around. " _Annoy_ me? What sort of a question is that?"

Which certainly _seems_ like irritation, as responses go, but Julian just chuckles nervously as he replies, "Well, the thing is we've just spent the last two hours alone together in this runabout and you've hardly said a word to me the whole time."

"Really," says O'Brien, with a little huff. "I hadn't noticed."

"Oh." Julian looks down slowly, not sure what to make of that. "I see."

It seems like an outright defeat—that Julian's presence apparently doesn't carry enough weight to warrant conversation—but then again, while the Chief could easily leave it at that, he instead says, "I suppose it's because I was too busy thinking."

"Thinking?" Julian looks up quickly, immediately curious.

"That's right."

"About what?"

O'Brien's tone takes on a bit of an edge; if not annoyed, then bewildered: "What?"

"What were you thinking about?" Julian is aware this is a bit of an odd question, but being able to pick O'Brien's brain is a tantalizing possibility. How can he pass the opportunity up? "I'm just curious."

There's a pause while the Chief seems to be absorbing this, still without turning to face Julian; Julian keeps his eyes on the man, hoping for something, he doesn't know what. The start of a conversation. An intriguing anecdote. _Something_.

"Well, let's see, erm..." O'Brien shifts his weight. "I was thinking that when we get back to the station I'll have to run a level one diagnostic on the phase coil generators."

Julian's face falls slightly. That's some work ethic. Not exactly what he'd been hoping for.

"Satisfied?" O'Brien says.

"I suppose so," murmurs Julian.

"Glad to hear it."

Julian supposes he ought to leave it at that, but, well, perhaps he simply hasn't made his intentions clear. If he can just make O'Brien understand that he's trying to initiate a friendly chat, surely the pieces would fall into place. He can't seem to help himself. The words spill out, as they usually do: "I mean, the only reason I bring it up is because your opinion means a lot to me." With good humor he acknowledges, "And I'm aware that I have a tendency to run off at the mouth sometimes."

"Is that a fact," says O'Brien, though Julian barely registers it.

"Suppose it's just a nervous habit," he babbles, and looks sharply back at the Chief. "I hope you don't hold it against me."

"Oh, not at all, sir," says O'Brien thinly.

Julian smiles a little to himself. It's not the first time O'Brien has referred to him like that. It just sounds so _odd_. "And one more thing," he says after a moment's hesitation.

"What's that, sir."

"I don't think it's really necessary to call me 'sir,'" says Julian, watching him for a reaction. How O'Brien manages to hold an entire conversation with his back turned like this is beyond him.

"Well, what should I call you?" O'Brien's fingers are still moving over the console, still busy, never quite fully invested. "You're my superior officer."

"How about Julian?" he says, softly, trying to mask any hopefulness he may feel. This is already unorthodox—there's no regulation against it, but it's certainly not a typical request.

O'Brien hesitates. "Is that an order?"

"Oh, no! Of course not," says Julian hastily. "It's just that... I'd simply prefer it if you... called me by my first name."

"...All right." There's no enthusiasm in the Chief's voice, but Julian decides to take it as a victory anyway. Of course, what he'd _really_ like to hear is 'then I suppose you should call me Miles,' but that doesn't seem to be forthcoming. Well, some people take time. Julian can be patient. It's been known to happen. Theoretically.

 


	2. An Outside Perspective

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue and events in this chapter are from S2e11 - Rivals

Keiko always knows when Miles is about to enter their quarters. He has a certain plodding gait, footfalls just heavy enough to detect out in the corridor, a dull rhythm that always come to a halt a few moments before the doors slide open. She doesn't bother looking up from her work—she's been recording observations and growth developments in a young specimen for the past hour, and she's nearly finished. Miles wanders in behind her, and she catches a faint whiff of sweat. He's giving off more than that—there's an air of frustration about him, which she calmly disregards for now.

"How'd it go?" she asks innocently.

There's a heavy clatter as Miles slams his racquetball gear onto the floor, and she gives him a concerned glance. He's more frustrated than she realized; has more to show for it, too, sweat staining down the front of his shirt. He breathes thick and heavy, staggering around to flop into his armchair, leaning back with a low groan.

"Good workout?" she says with only moderate optimism.

In a strained voice, he babbles, "Medical school... captain of the team at medical school."

"Who are you talking about?" she inquires patiently.

"Bashir," he grunts, giving her a significant look.

Keiko keeps her expression neutral, but this is valuable information as far as she's concerned. She has met the doctor a number of times, but always in formal settings. He's struck her as handsome and charming, but she hasn't had a chance to get to know him beyond that impression. Everything she knows, she knows from Miles. And for someone he claims not to care for, that amounts to rather a lot. Indeed, he speaks of the doctor—or rather, his vast and apparently limitless irritation with the doctor—constantly. She has begun to suspect there is more to it than a simple clash of personalities.

"You had a game?" she says, remaining innocuous.

"Oh, _he_ had a game!" Miles snaps. "I just kind of stumbled around the court for ninety minutes making a complete arse of myself."

She offers him a placid, reassuring smile. "I'm sure he didn't see it that way."

"The hell he didn't," he retorts. "That smug look on his face." He affects an exaggeratedly posh version of the doctor's accent: " _I guess you prefer old-style rules._ Like I was some kind of fossil!" He pulls a towel out from his bag, raising it to his face. "In my day I could have wiped the court with him!"

"That's a point, you're not a kid anymore," she says lightly.

Immediately he lowers the towel just enough for his eyes to peek out at her in astonishment.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of!" she says. "People just naturally slow down."

Miles nods, still looking entirely affronted. "Ohh," he says coolly. "Like molasses in winter, huh? Thanks!"

She sighs. "Miles, you're taking this way too seriously."

"I'm out of shape, that's all," he grumbles, then hauls himself back up, grunting with the effort. "I just need to get me wind back." Under his breath he adds, "Sector champion my eye." Halfway to the washroom, he turns back, gesturing sharply. "He's vulnerable to every one of my best shots!" He strips off his shirt, rough enough that he just about tears it, and continues, "I just... I just couldn't _get_ them there! ... _This_ time."

So declared, he stalks into the washroom.

Keiko watches him go, then turns her attention back to her work with a slight shake of her head. Sounds like that's going to be the talk of their quarters for the next several days, and if she were a gambling woman, she'd lay down money as to why. Miles is a routinely irritable man—he's very good at it. But it's rare that his irritation rises to this level of pique, and when it does, Keiko has found that is one of the best indicators of his investment in a person. The stronger his feelings, the fiercer his temper.

True to form, Miles seems completely unaware of his own crush. It's obvious to _her_ , but based on how every other courtship has gone during their life together— _including_ her own—it's unlikely he has the faintest notion. Miles is an unarguably brilliant man, but he never seems fully aware of what's going on in front of his own nose in this department.

The real question is if there's any hope of it being reciprocated. It would be nice for Miles to meet someone. They haven't met anyone since their days on the Enterprise, and that slowed down more and more as Molly got older. They haven't even talked about the possibility of it since moving here. Sometimes Keiko worries Miles wants to be done with all that, but this is a little glimmer of hope, seeing him getting all worked up like this.

And Doctor Bashir is _very_ handsome.

She considers the advantages in being direct and simply asking Miles about it. Drawing his attention to the matter when the feelings are so vehement—and when his wounded pride is still forefront on his mind—might serve only to spoil the whole thing before it's off the ground. Better to let it run its course, nurture it gently, and see how it goes. Tending to Miles is very often like tending to her trees.

"So, you're planning a rematch?" she asks after the shower stops running.

"I have to beat him, don't I?"

"Nobody's saying you _have_ to."

He pokes his head out from the washroom. " _I'm_ saying it!"

"All right," she says. "Well, maybe you should start exercising again. We could start up a daily regimen, I could do it with you. Maybe even some meditation?"

Right on cue, he shrinks back out of sight, and she glances over to see the edge of his reflection in the washroom mirror, aggressively toweling off his hair. "I dunno about _that_ ," he grumbles, slightly muffled. "I just have to keep playing."

"Uh-huh," she says, but she smiles to herself. As predicted, this isn't about getting in shape—it's all about Bashir.

"I can handle it!" he protests.

"All right, I believe you." She has no interest in belaboring that point. "And you know I'll be cheering you on."

He comes out, half-dressed and half-smiling, mollified by her quick retirement of the idea. "I know," he says, and makes a beeline for the replicator.

The temptation to press him for more details is strong, but Keiko resists. They'll have their rematch, and perhaps then there will be more to tell.

( ~~o~~ )

"I can't believe it!"

Miles comes stomping into their quarters, just as sweaty as before, panting just as hard. Keiko is on the sofa with some reading she's been meaning to catch up on, and she sets the pad down the moment he barges in, motioning sharply to Molly's room, hissing for quiet. "She just fell asleep!"

"Sorry." Miles lowers his voice but not his blood pressure, pacing the room like a man possessed. "D'you know what he just did? Do you have any idea?"

"He beat you again?" she guesses.

"Worse!" Miles wrestles out of his shirt and pats his face with it. " _First_ , he tried to play me for a sap and missed all the shots on purpose. And then, after I called him out on it, he _quit_! Got a call to go down to the Infirmary, then up and dumped me, just like that. Said he didn't like the game as much as he used to, said he's _sure_ I'll find another opponent."

"Well, won't you?" she says, choosing to remain coy. "It's a big station."

"Course I can! But that's not the point!" He's starting to raise his voice again, and again she motions for him to quiet down. He huffs and slumps into his chair, speaking in a hoarse whisper. "The _point_ is, I could've beaten him, but now I'll never get the chance." He pauses to pat more at his face, groaning softly as he relaxes his overworked muscles. "I wouldn't be surprised if he arranged for that call just so he could get out of it. Probably thinks going against an old-timer like me is a huge waste of his precious time."

"Now, Miles," she scolds him gently. "I'm sure that's not it. Didn't you tell me a while ago how much he values your opinion? He respects you."

"Yeah, a boy respecting his elders," Miles grunts. "Taking pity on them and _letting_ them win."

Keiko barely represses the urge to roll her eyes and gets up, going to fetch him some water. "Don't be so hard on yourself. I have it on good authority that you have still got it, Miles Edward O'Brien."

Miles scoffs, but he accepts the water with a murmur of thanks.

"I'll bet he backed out because he saw how serious you were," she says, setting her hands at her hips. "You put the fear into him. Now you'll have to coax him back out."

"Don't flatter me," he mutters.

"You think _this_ is flattery, huh," she says, now coy in earnest.

"He's so smug you can just _feel_ it radiating off him," he insists. "I dunno, maybe I'm better off. He's just so full of himself, it's like I can't help but want to teach him a lesson. The man is ridiculous. I mean, you should see the bloody suit he wears. He looks like the paint job on some cheap model starship."

Keiko smiles at the image, still standing over him, then reaches out to rest a hand on his shoulder. "You wanna know what I think, Miles? I think this isn't over. You'll get your chance, and when you do, he's going to regret the day he agreed to face you."

Miles snorts but his expression is playful when he looks at her. "What sort of example are you setting for our daughter, lying like that?" he teases.

"Molly is asleep," she says. "And it's not lying if I believe it."

"You're so full of it," he laughs.

"I am full of _wisdom_ ," she declares, and moves to settle onto his lap.

"Oh—careful, sweetheart, I'm disgusting," he protests, holding the water glass awkwardly out of her way, helpless to stop her.

"Don't care," she says, and leans down against him, resting her head on his shoulder. "I'd love to see you give him what for," she murmurs.

Miles smiles; she can feel the twitch of his cheek against her brow. "Would you, now?" he says.

"You know I would," she says, and tilts her head toward him to brush a kiss against his cheek. "You'll get that rematch, one way or another." She hopes she's right about that. It would be a shame to see this whole thing collapse on itself already. "You'll see."

( ~~o~~ )

'One way or another' turns out to be a dramatic scheme courtesy of none other than Quark, which is not exactly what Keiko had in mind, as underhanded and morally suspect as Quark's schemes always are, but it'll serve. It certainly seems to be serving Miles well enough, in spite of his alleged indignation over the whole ruse.

Right now he's standing in front of the bedroom mirror, talking intently to his reflection.

"You can beat his backhand," he murmurs. "Keep the ball low. To his left."

She slips up beside him. This is serious business, and she intends to be serious. She hands him his shirt with a certain ceremonial air, and he takes it and pulls it on like it's battle armor.

"Corner return on the serve," he continues, and tugs the collar over his head. "Then kill shot, left."

She dutifully hands him one of his wristbands.

He slides it on. "If he returns again..." he holds out his hand for the other, which she provides readily, "...high, back wall." He draws a steadying breath. "And remember—"

She cuts him off quickly with a hand on his arm. "Win or lose, _tonight_ , we celebrate."

He smirks faintly. He'll be in no mood for celebration if he loses, and she knows it's likely he will. But she can work with that. If he comes in high on victory, gloating and brash, well, she can work with that too, but he's sometimes strangely easier to appease when he's in a rotten mood. Pulling him up is often a simpler matter than meeting him on whatever elevated level he's at. She has a few ideas about that. A scheme of her own. Something nicer than the traditional food and drink sort of celebration.

And at some point, maybe, mood permitting, she'll ask him about Bashir.

Miles turns to her, and she hands him his bag like he's going away to war, and he turns away to leave.

"Miles, wait," she says with a hint of mischief in her tone. Stoking this thing with the Doctor is all well and good, but that's only a piece of it. Eminently more important is equipping him toward unlikely victory, and leaving her own little mark. He turns back, and she crosses the room to him, reaching up to tie her specially prepared token around his brow. "A silk handkerchief, medieval Japanese design," she says affectionately; with it knotted, she drags her fingers slowly down his stubble-rough jaw, "scented with my perfume."

She draws him in for a kiss, holding onto his chin for a moment before releasing him and giving his chest a solid pat.

"Kick his butt," she says with a little smirk.

He grins and saunters off, and she smiles after him. If she had any interest in being stuck in Quark's with a rowdy crowd of gamblers, she'd show up to spectate, but as it is, looking after Molly provides a convenient excuse to beg off. She'll let Miles tell the story of victory or defeat when he returns.

 

She's certainly not expecting him to return with a far stranger tale involving alterations to the laws of probability. Keiko watches him, increasingly incredulous, as he describes the experience in the court and Commander Sisko's rather inelegant solution to the unexplained matter.

"Who won, daddy?" Molly asks, having absorbed very little of the conversation, patiently coloring on the floor.

"Nobody, sweetheart," says Miles, squatting down to watch her work, resting a hand on her back. "We decided to call it a draw. But it's all right. Mr. Quark's going to get the Bajoran kids their blankets. The Doctor saw to that."

"They don't have blankets?" Molly says, looking up at him with big eyes.

Miles glances at Keiko and they exchange soft smiles.

"They do now," he says reassuringly, rubbing her back, studying her as he often does. "Can daddy pick you up?"

She immediately sets her paints down and raises her hands in invitation, and Miles lifts her off the floor, continuing to smile at Keiko.

"Maybe we should have Dr. Bashir over for dinner sometime," Keiko suggests.

"Dinner?" Miles raises an eyebrow, his expression shifting rapidly to one of distress. "Why would we want to do that?"

"Well, if you two are starting to be friends," Keiko says with a shrug.

"I wouldn't call us friends!" Miles sputters even as he bounces Molly lightly. She doesn't seem interested in their conversation, her little arms wrapped around his neck, starting to doze on his shoulder. "Keiko, honestly, you should count yourself lucky in that regard. The man is a royal pain in my—" He catches himself and glances at his daughter. He softens and gives her another gentle bounce. "Is Molly ready for bed?" he coos.

"No!" she protests sleepily, tugging on his shirt.

"She's not!" he says with theatrical dismay. He shoots Keiko a grin and says, "What if daddy reads you a story, huh? You and Piggy can get under the covers and listen together."

Molly lifts her head to look at him. "Will you do the voices?" she says hopefully.

" _Ooh, the girl wants the voices, does she!_ " he growls in the gnarled voice he reserves for her storybook villains, and Molly shrieks in delight. Miles carries her off to her bedroom with a dastardly cackle, Molly giggling all the way.

Keiko smirks and gets up to set their dishes back in the replicator. From Molly's room she can hear the muffled tones of Miles' many voices as he reads.

The door chime goes, and she moves quickly to answer it, hoping Miles hasn't heard. This is all part of the surprise, after all.

She smiles as she opens the door on Second Lieutenant Anara, the Bajoran engineer she and Miles often call on when they need a sitter. She's served them well, both as his apprentice, and as their daughter's occasional caretaker.

"Good evening, Mrs. O'Brien," she says. "I'm not too late, I hope."

"Not at all," says Keiko. "Miles is just putting her to bed now. She's been sleeping very soundly these past couple weeks, so it should be a quiet night. If she has a nightmare, the best thing is to sit with her in bed and tell her a story."

"I've got some good ones prepared, just in case," says Anara.

"Miles and I won't be out too late," says Keiko. "Something to drink?"

She makes light conversation with Anara for a little while before Miles finally emerges from Molly's room.

"Out like a light," he says. "So, wh—oh. Anara." He blinks at her, then looks at Keiko with a nonplussed expression.

"Hi, Chief," says Anara with a grin.

"Surprise," says Keiko. "I'm taking you out tonight. Go and change into something comfortable."

Miles stares at her, startled. "But... I..."

"Your shift starts late tomorrow, and I've already reserved us a a holosuite," says Keiko smoothly. "I told you we were celebrating. Now go on, get changed."

He smiles slowly, still a little befuddled, but not about to argue. He steps past them and into their bedroom.

"Does Molly know I'll be here?" Anara wonders.

"I told her you'd keep her company tonight," says Keiko. "And that it was a surprise for Daddy."

"She's a good girl," says Anara with a warm smile. "I'd have given up something like that in a heartbeat when I was her age."

"She's got the O'Brien stubbornness," says Keiko fondly. "Can't pry anything out of her. I'm sure that'll backfire on us when she's a teenager."

"How's this?" Miles steps out and gives her a slow turn in his civilian gear. He's wearing his deep blue silk shirt—Keiko's favorite. She smiles her approval.

"Call us if you need anything," Keiko tells Anara as they depart.

"So." Miles offers her his arm as they make their way to the turbolift. "What's all this about? We going for a moonlight walk on a beach somewhere?"

"I thought we'd try something new tonight," she says, patting his arm. "Just a little program I found in the archive."

"Oh yeah?" He gives her a conspiratorial grin. "Something a little more... adventurous, maybe?"

"Something like that," Keiko says, content to let him play guessing games all the way to Quark's.

"I see," he says. "Adventurous in setting, or in content, I wonder?"

"Maybe it's both," Keiko suggests.

He continues needling at her all the way to the Promenade, through Quark's, right up to the corridor outside the holosuites. She feels she's misled him somewhat; all Quark's programs have a certain reputation, but this one didn't come from him. When they pause outside their suite, he's guessing, "Roleplay?"

"All _right_ , since someone can't wait and see for himself," she says, grinning in spite of herself. "It is roleplay, but not quite what you're thinking. It's a murder mystery series."

" _Murder mystery_ ," he blurts.

"That's right." She raises herself up on her toes, draping her arms around his shoulders. "It'll be fun. What do you say? Detective or villain?"

He's warming to the idea, just as she knew he would. It's not their usual fare, but he does like his narrative programs. It's just he so rarely has a partner for them. He sets his hands at her hips and says, low and husky, "You _do_ make a pretty good villain."

"I always thought so," she says, and leans in to kiss him, slow and deep. He holds onto her firmly and she lets her hands move from his shoulders to his back, drawing patiently downward.

Someone clears their throat.

Miles opens his eyes but doesn't quite pull away; over his shoulder, Keiko catches a glimpse of the Doctor himself.

"Oh," she says, grinning, feeling a little punch-drunk. "Hello, Doctor."

Miles turns and regards the young man with a stare that flutters between annoyed and embarrassed. Bashir, apparently heading up to a holosuite himself, stands there staring back, not sure what to do with his hands. Keiko can't help but enjoy the moment.

"Chief," Bashir stammers after a moment. "Mrs. O'Brien."

"I heard you two had an interesting game today," Keiko says.

"It certainly... was interesting," Bashir concedes, his eyes flicking to Miles.

Miles glances at her, a clear signal that he wants to get _inside_ the holosuite now, away from this awkward moment. For a terrible, mischievous instant, Keiko has the urge to invite Bashir in with them, just to see what happens—but it's not the right time, especially not when she's led Miles to expect a date for just the two of them.

"Well, I should—" Bashir gestures vaguely at the door to his own holosuite.

"We should too," says Keiko quickly.

"See you around," Miles mutters.

Bashir disappears into his own room, and they into theirs. Keiko smirks at Miles, who just rolls his eyes and his shoulders, brushing the encounter aside.

Well, she can see he's going to continue to be difficult about this, but that's all right. She'll just have to keep prodding and waiting and seeing. She's a patient woman. One has to be, when it comes to Miles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Second Lieutenant Anara appears in S1e16 - The Forsaken, but I hadn't seen that episode yet when I named the babysitter Anara, a name from off the top of my head that sounded reasonably Bajoran. I saw The Forsaken the very next day after completing this chapter, was stunned, and promptly made her the same character. ACCORDING TO LORE she left the station and was replaced by the infamous Neela (In the Hands of the Prophets), but y'know what this is too weird of a coincidence so I'm keeping her around. I do what I want Thor.


	3. Diverging Paths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue and events from S2e13 - Armageddon Game

The surface of T'Lani III is, Julian reflects, about as dry and unforgiving as the Chief himself. The man's been working on repairing the transmitter for almost thirty minutes now, and Julian is starting to grow uncomfortable with the silence. He struggles to maintain it as he roams between the chambers of this old bunker, fiddling absently with his weapon. As he approaches the Chief and settles back against the wall, he can't help saying, not for the first time, "So, having any luck?"

"I wish you'd stop asking me that," is O'Brien's immediate response.

"I'm sorry," Julian sighs. "It's just—all this standing around." He looks back down at the phaser rifle, tracing his finger along the casing. "At least you're doing something constructive."

"You just keep your eyes open for any Kellerun soldiers."

"Don't worry, I will." Julian drifts over to the frame of what was once a window and settles down on the sill, gazing out over the sandy wasteland.

O'Brien heaves a sigh. "It's such a mess in here."

Julian keeps his focus on the landscape, murmuring, "You'll make it work, Chief. This is the kind of challenge you live for."

O'Brien grunts and continues tinkering. Julian's thoughts are elsewhere, imagining where they could be right now if the Kelleruns hadn't sabotaged things. The Harvesters destroyed, everyone celebrating the success—that's what it should be.

"You know, I was looking forward to the celebrations on T'Lani Prime," he says. "I don't know if you've noticed, but T'Lani women are quite attractive."

He glances back over, curious, he's not sure exactly why. Trying to let it be unimportant. His efforts to get close to the Chief—even just to get friendly, really—have been met with some resistance. He's decided at least that O'Brien is like this with most everyone, but Julian has always been, well, special, hasn't he. He can't abide not being the exception.

This line of thinking threatens to leave a bad taste in his already dry mouth. He pushes it away.

"I'm not blind, you know," is all O'Brien has to say.

"Course not." Julian smiles faintly. "But you are married."

Which doesn't mean entirely what it might _seem_ like it means. Let O'Brien interpret it as he will; that'll be telling, won't it? Why Julian skirts these lines is unclear even to him. Well, mostly unclear. Unclear if he avoids thinking about it too deeply. The image of the Chief and his wife standing outside the holosuites just a few weeks ago is still very, very fresh in Julian's mind. Which is not relevant. Or is it.

"Just cause you're married doesn't mean you stop looking at women," O'Brien says, sounding annoyed, but no more than usual.

"Just as long as you don't let your wife see you look," says Julian.

O'Brien gives him with a strange little sidelong stare. Julian has no talent for psychology and has been told by professors, peers, and colleagues alike that he is a poor reader of people. Is it bitterness or irritation that O'Brien now fixes him with? If Julian were obliged to guess, he'd say there was some consideration in it, as of a man debating whether or not (or how) to reply.

Julian heads him off before he has a chance; afraid of what that reply might be, or afraid it will end whatever game it is he's embarked upon.

"For me, tonight's celebrations would have been an adventure," he says, turning quickly back to the outside world. "The most you could've hoped for was..." he hesitates, smirks, and turns back, "a good meal."

"Women!" says O'Brien, disbelief and scorn in equal measure. "That's all you think about!"

"No it isn't," Julian laughs softly. It's a common misconception. "Though I do think about them a lot."

Which is true. Men have never occupied his thoughts with as much... intensity as those on the feminine spectrum, but, well, it would be so _easy_ to add that, in a lighthearted way even, for a good chuckle, _For instance, sometimes I think about men_.

But he doesn't do that. O'Brien moves them onward, his voice echoing low in the bowels of the transmitter, "Yeah, well. One of these days you'll fall in love with one."

Julian looks at him. He's sweaty and dusty—they both are—hunched over and pale, fingers dirty from the machinery. Julian so wishes that old offer to call him by his first name had stuck. Julian wishes a lot of things.

And now he's thinking about Palis.

"I did once," he murmurs.

O'Brien softens some, perhaps the first time Julian's witnessed such a phenomenon. "Not work out?"

Julian smiles ruefully and looks down at his hands, less calloused than the Chief's by far. He suspects they always will be. "Not quite. Close." He makes passing eye contact with O'Brien, who is apparently keen to avoid it. "I don't know. Somehow... marriage just doesn't seem fair."

A pause, then O'Brien echoes, " _Fair_?"

"Fair. To them." Again, Julian meets his eyes, and again, O'Brien avoids him. "I mean, look at us, our lives are constantly in danger. There's enough to worry about without worrying about the wife and kids at home worrying about us."

He catches O'Brien looking, and then looking away, slow, heavy.

Idiot.

"...I'm sorry, Chief," he says quietly. "I just feel that way." Insecure, tugging at the sleeve of his uniform, he bolsters himself with unnecessary validation: "A lot of career officers feel that way."

"Well, you _career officers_ don't know what you're missing." O'Brien gives him a thin, humorless smile.

Julian gazes at him for a long moment. "Really?" he says. He turns slowly, angling his body back into the bunker, toward the Chief. He resents the implication that his lifestyle is somehow inferior. He resents that he himself brought them down this awkward conversational path, and that he now can't seem to steer himself off it. He resents, most of all, contradictorily, selfishly, that O'Brien has someone on the station _worrying_ , and he does not.

"That may be so," he says. "I just look at you and Mrs. O'Brien, and I—"

_Oh, no._

There's the soft metallic click of O'Brien setting a tool down abruptly. Julian's heart leaps into his throat—actually, no, that's a tired, overused phrase, and not medically accurate besides, what he's _feeling_ is a sudden sharp increase in adrenaline, a heat rush under his skin, acute anxiety as his sense of propriety catches up to his mouth. _What has he almost said?_ What _has_ he almost said? That O'Brien's assertion is a bit hard to swallow when _everyone_ has seen them fight in public at least once—an absurd, cruel thing to say—or that he can't stop thinking about it, the way Keiko looked at him over O'Brien's shoulder, the way the curiosity over what, exactly, they'd gone into the holosuite to do stuck with him all through that night? That it's not just an inconvenient attraction to the station's incredibly unattainable Chief of Operations, no, that would almost be simpler—it's something he can't even name, something he can't possibly bring himself to admit, something frankly terrifying. How is he supposed to say— _I look at you and Mrs. O'Brien, and I feel like you're missing something, and I want that something to be me._

It's preposterous. He wants to throw up. That might also be the rations he ate.

"What _about_ me and Mrs. O'Brien?" says the Chief coldly.

"Nothing." Julian swerves hastily back to first position, sitting guard out the window, tormented by the prickling of sweat on the back of his neck.

" _What_?" O'Brien snaps.

"Nothing," Julian says again, breathless, desperate, for once, to be ignored. "Absolutely nothing."

O'Brien won't stop staring. He has been avoiding eye contact all damn day and now he _won't stop staring_ , and Julian suddenly has the crushing feeling that if he doesn't come up with something to say, the transmitter will never get fixed, and they'll both die here on this miserable planet.

The diverging paths in his mind stand starkly against one another: one the unkind, contemptuous words of a gossip-monger, of a man riddled with jealousy; the other an agonizingly complicated admission that will expose a deep, confusing, complicated part of himself.

He has to make a choice.

"It's no secret that your assignment to this station..." he struggles with the words, frustrated that he's cornered himself here, "hasn't been conducive to your marriage."

O'Brien continues to stare, hard, angry, and says, "Say that again?"

Julian has the strong impression that he's well on his way to getting punched. Probably no more than he deserves. "Why don't we just forget it," he mutters, and turns away.

"That's the first intelligent thing you've said since we got here," O'Brien says vindictively, and goes back to work.

Julian focuses on breathing, in, out, slow, steady, settling his heart rate, his blood pressure. He wishes he could splash some cold water on his face, but breathing exercises will have to do.

He's working on accepting the idea that this silence will drag out for the foreseeable future when the Chief suddenly walks away from the transmitter to a stash of goods in the corner and returns with a heavy blanket draped around his shoulders.

Julian stares at him, first stunned, then concerned as the pieces come together. He'd already noticed the sheen of sweat, the pale face. He gets up, setting his weapon aside, and approaches, slow and cautious, aware that this is awfully soon after he willingly jammed his foot in his mouth.

"Are you cold?" he asks, all conversational inflection muted, examining O'Brien no longer as a maddening enigma, but as a certain patient.

"Yes," says O'Brien irritably. "Aren't you?"

"No, actually, it's quite warm in here." O'Brien ignores him. He looks worse up close. "You're looking a little pale."

"I'm _fine_ ," he insists.

Julian opens his tricorder and begins scanning, unconcerned by O'Brien's palpable irritation. It's as bad as he'd feared. "Your blood pressure's low, and you're running a fever. You'd better sit down."

"I don't want to sit down, I've got work to do," says the Chief impatiently.

Julian barely hears him. His eyes are frozen on the tricorder, on the readings that are starting to calcify into a clear and terrible conclusion, as well as a specific location on O'Brien's body. "Roll up your sleeve," he says curtly.

" _Why_?"

"Do it." Julian stares him down for a taut moment. "Please."

O'Brien breathes out slowly and obeys. There, on his forearm, is exactly what Julian expected, and exactly what he'd hoped not to see: the puckered veins, the discolored skin, the telltale signs of the very thing they've just spent a week destroying.

Julian grimaces, taking the Chief's arm in his hands. "You were behind the genetic bath when it shattered, weren't you," he murmurs.

O'Brien exhales again, heavy, as if with effort. "You have something to tell me, Doctor?"

Julian maintains calm steadiness in his voice as well as his hands. It's a crucial aspect of his profession. "You've been infected by the Harvesters."

O'Brien stares at him for a long moment, visibly slipping through the stages—denial, terror, resignation—without giving voice to any of them. He lowers his eyes after a moment, and after a moment more he pulls his arm back.

"Chief," Julian says, slightly edged.

"I have to keep working," he says firmly.

"At the current rate of infection you'll be incapacitated before—"

"Can you _fix_ me or not?" O'Brien gives him a sharp glare, and Julian swallows thickly.

"Not without the right equipment," he says. "On the station—"

"Then I guess I'd better work on getting us back to the station, huh." Seeming to view the matter as closed, O'Brien resumes working, just as methodical as before. Julian watches him for a moment before proximity and silence become unbearable, and he turns away.

"I'll, er, keep watch," he says softly. "Let me know if—"

"Yeah, yeah," says O'Brien distractedly, without any bite. He needs to concentrate; now more than ever. Julian looks about the empty room for a moment, then steps elsewhere, into the adjacent chamber. O'Brien ought to be closely monitored, but, well, talk about 'not conducive.' And Julian could use a few minutes to himself.

( ~~o~~ )

Miles' fuzzy vision has regressed to the point where he can barely see anything at all anymore, but the Doctor doesn't need to know that. He's already been relieved of duty, and honestly the opportunity to sit was much-needed; now he needs Bashir working, not fussing over him.

Turns out seeing through eyes that don't work is really bloody hard. Much more comfortable to let them shut. That's better. He's so tired. His sense of smell has started to fail him, which is good too. Doesn't need that. All that dust and dry air. He imagines Keiko instead. Her perfume. Her hair. That's better. Would be nice to fall asleep. Next to her.

"You were right, Chief!" The Doctor is aggravatingly cheerful, as always. Miles opens his eyes again, which is an exhausting act; it's only going to get harder. Bashir is holding something in his face. "The contacts in the subprocessor are corroded."

Subprocessor. Right. Miles peers at the thing and reaches out for it, feeling the residual itch to do his work—he knows what needs to be done, if he could only _do_ it, make his limbs listen—but his joints are so tired. Stiff, achey. He taps the contacts lightly. "Yeah," he mumbles. "Th-they need to be cleaned."

"Oh! Um, I think there are some sterile pads in the medkit," says Bashir, pulling away, allowing Miles to drop his arm.

Miles will say one thing for the young Doctor. He is eager.

"Here we go," Bashir says, and starts in on the contacts. Miles lets his eyes fall shut again. The faint scratching sound of metal being cleaned is comforting, familiar. What was he thinking about? Keiko. Molly. Gotta see them again. Not allowed to die. He's so damn cold. Wishes he could be in bed. Warm bodies. Keiko, and... and.

"Don't leave me, Chief." The Doctor's voice cuts through his miasma. "I still need you."

Miles glances at him, or rather the hazy outline of him, silhouetted against the window. He smiles faintly. "Don't worry. I'm not goin anywhere."

Silence is both a comfort and a danger at this point, and Miles knows it. The gentle sound of cloth on metal isn't enough to keep him stirred. He watches Julian's hands for a while. He watches _the Doctor's_ hands. "So who was she?" he asks finally.

Bashir stops cleaning, which is not the consequence Miles was hoping for. "Who?" he says, sounding genuinely perplexed.

Miles keeps his eyes on him. In a way it's good he can't see right, can't actually see the Doctor making eye contact, as he is always so ready to do. Softly, gently, he mocks the young man's accent: " _Not quite. Close_."

He hears the man smile. Actually hears it. Something about the way his breath changes—that's a little too much information that his own brain just provided there. He's starting to lose it. Bashir doesn't need to know that.

"Palis," says Bashir. "Palis Delon. She was a dancer, a ballerina. She had the most exquisite feet."

Which is also, perhaps, more information than Miles needed. But he'll take what scraps come, at this point. He snorts a weak, sickly laugh.

"I'm serious! It's very important for a dancer to have good arches." He pauses, and Miles can't mark what his face is doing, but he seems happy enough to indulge in the memory. "She was gorgeous. Not to mention brilliant. I used to watch her on stage. I couldn't believe how anyone could be _so_ graceful."

Funny, isn't it, you go a year working with a man whose voice drives you crawling up the walls, just can't stop _talking_ , and then you wind up dying on some godforsaken rock and his voice becomes the most soothing thing imaginable. Miles watches the blur of him, really _talking_ rather than just babbling away, and imagines him smiling. A sort of pivot, or an anchor by which to stay here, in this bunker. Can't be with Keiko in dreamland right now. Have to stay right here.

It's not so bad.

"And she was crazy about you, huh," he guesses. It's not a difficult guess to make.

"We were crazy about each other." There's a pause. At least he's still cleaning the subprocessor. "I used to think... _Julian, you lucky devil—you found the perfect woman._ " He hums, low and wistful. "We used to finish each other's thoughts."

Miles wants the story to go on... or not the story, not really the story, just the talking. Nice rich voice carefully, gently enunciating every hopelessly English syllable. A young man telling him stories, cleaning metal. But the metal should be clean by now, and indeed, Julian holds the subprocessor back out for inspection. "There," he says. "What do you think?"

Miles studies the thing as well as he can. "Hh—good. Good." He tilts his head, which triggers a bit of vertigo on which he doesn't feel the need to comment. "You can put it back in the comm panel."

Julian walks away, and Miles follows his shape, his footsteps. It wasn't too long ago they were going head to head on his racquetball court, not too long ago Miles wanted to destroy him on the glorious field of sport. That all seems distant and childish now. He's a good man, for all his idiosyncrasies. Keiko would probably like him.

"Looks like we have some power anyway," says Julian alongside the whirring of old machinery. Miles listens to the aimless trills of the system, followed by the inevitable: "Still no response from the transmitter, though."

"Try re-tuning the R-F oscillators," Miles says automatically.

He can barely see Julian across the room, murky against the shadows. Sun's starting to go down. He can't subsist on electrical noises alone. "So, what happened?" he asks. "With you and Palis."

"What happened is I graduated," says Julian matter-of-factly. "Her father was the top administrator at a medical complex in Paris. He offered me a job. Promised I'd be Chief of Surgery within five years."

"Ah," says Miles. "But you would have to give up your Starfleet career."

"I can't tell you how close I came. But... here I am."

The corner of Miles' mouth twitches in a smile. "You made your choice," he says. And if he's being perfectly honest with himself, he's glad.

"Yeah." Julian chuckles, barely, distracted by the oscillators."Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and I think to myself... will I ever find anyone that wonderful again?"

Miles doesn't answer. It's an odd moment; an odd question, rhetorical but nonetheless seeming to want an answer. Miles wants to tell him, you will. Maybe even, maybe you have. He wonders, fleetingly, why he didn't tell Julian the truth about his and Keiko's marriage— _just as long as you don't let her see_ —more often than not, it's Keiko doing the looking. What would Keiko think about Julian, he wonders?

Why is he asking himself this?

"The oscillator's working, but the frequency's still fluctuating," Julian is saying.

Miles sighs wearily. The distraction is a good one. "Let me take a look," he says, and rests his palms on the ground, shifting his weight to hoist himself up—

He cries out sharply, and Jul— _Bashir's_ footsteps scrape along the ground toward him once more. "What is it?" the Doctor asks.

"It's... my legs," says Miles breathlessly. He makes another cursory effort to get up, but it's for naught, only leaving a harder ache in his back and arms. "I can't feel them."

Bashir is crouched down close, studying him, and Miles suddenly feels crowded. He lets himself crumple back down, slumped against the wall, and Bashir gets up a moment later and goes back to scanning him.

"The infection is starting to inhibit your neurological pathways," he says tersely.

"Then you'd better get the transmitter working, hadn't you," Miles grunts.

Bashir turns, quick and decisive, back to the transmitter and returns to fussing with the oscillators. Miles tugs the blanket closer around himself. The energy spent trying to get himself off the ground feels astronomical—like he just ran a marathon. He's so tired. If he could just rest...

"Chief!" The Doctor's voice disrupts him again, unpleasantly loud and crisp. "Chief, it's working. Signal's very faint."

Miles feels like he's speaking out of a dream—he knows the words that need saying, but they all feel so terribly distant. "You'll have to switch to a higher carrier frequency," he murmurs. "Reset the actuators on the chambers coil."

"That's better; it's still pretty weak, though," says Bashir. "I'm sending a distress signal, it's set to repeat every two minutes. Let's hope the T'Lani find us before the Kelleruns do."

Miles wants to nod his agreement, but he can't even manage that. "They better get here soon," he says quietly.

Footsteps pace back across the room to him; the weight of a body sitting near him, the warbling of a tricorder. "Don't worry, Chief. I'm gonna get you home."

Miles' eyes flutter open, and he didn't realize how dark it had become. Seems appropriate. "In a box, maybe."

"Nonsense," says the Doctor doggedly. "Don't go giving up on me now."

"I'm not giving up," says Miles, faintly exasperated. "I'm dying."

Dying. The truth of it hits him as he speaks it aloud. Keiko—they were going to go to the holosuite again, a Kyoto program, with Molly. A picnic, to celebrate him coming home. They were going to—he can't leave them, not—

"L-listen to me—" he falters, turning towards the young man hunched over him. "Listen to me, Julian."

Julian freezes even as the tricorder continues making its busy little sounds. In the darkness Miles can barely see him, sitting there all rigid, staring at him with those big eyes. It's hard enough to think, to breathe. Miles struggles against the invisible weight on his chest. "You must tell Keiko and Molly—"

"You'll tell them yourself," says Julian, and he closes the tricorder and sets it aside.

Miles looks at him for a few moments more before letting his eyes close again. Julian comes down off the crates, crouched beside him, fiddling with his supplies.

"You were wrong, you know," Miles says feverishly. "About marriage."

"Whatever you say, Chief."

"Listen to me, Julian!" This is important, dammit, he needs—he needs Julian to listen, to be _here_ , with him, now, so he'll know this, before it's too late: "You're the one who's always talking about adventure—hah... adventure." He's delirious, and he knows it. Can you _know_ when you're delirious? It doesn't matter. "Well. Marriage is the greatest adventure of them all. It's filled with pitfalls and setbacks and mistakes and..."

Julian's sitting beside him now, pressed up against him in fact, warm and close; he pulls the blanket back, rolls up Miles' sleeve, injects him with something. Miles can't tell if it makes a difference. Julian is close, and warm, and that's all.

"But it's a journey worth taking," he babbles, "because you take it together." He huffs out a difficult breath. He just wants to _sleep_ , but there are things that need saying still—"I know Keiko's been unhappy about us coming to the station... We still argue about it. But that's all right... because at the end of the day, we both know we love each other."

"Chief," says Julian, soft but insistent.

"And that's all that matters," says Miles, his eyes alighting again on Julian, wanting to know he understands, but how can he, when it isn't any good just to _say_ it, this is—it's not enough, it's just a small part of who he and Keiko are, Julian doesn't see, he doesn't—

" _Chief_ ," says Julian again.

"Huh?" Miles blinks at him. He's close enough that he can make out his features. He's... he is handsome, isn't he? Miles doesn't usually notice that in men. Every once in a while there's been one, but it's usually Keiko paying attention to that sort of thing. He doesn't have a good eye for them, for the way they look. It's their voices he likes. And their hands.

"You'd better get some rest," says Julian.

Miles can't argue with that. He can't keep track of his own thoughts anymore. He misses Keiko and Molly. Maybe he can dream about them. He relents, letting himself drift.

"The T'Lani will be here soon," says Julian, sounding very far away.

( ~~o~~ )

Julian doesn't sleep. Not a moment through the night. He can't afford to. The Kelleruns may find them at any moment, and with Chief O'Brien deteriorating rapidly... He _is_ dying, and if the T'Lani don't find them soon there won't be a damn thing Julian can do about it.

He called him _Julian_.

There was so much Julian wanted to say during his whole long speech, but he'd been working, fully in his role as doctor, and he'd thought it was probably best if he didn't interrupt. He wanted to protest— _no,_ it isn't about the fights, it's—

What is it, really? The difficulty of revealing one's inconvenient feelings to a married person is significant enough without the added complication of... _what_? He doesn't even _know_ Keiko, not really, not outside his role on the station. She's attractive, but that's not the point; wonderfully intelligent, but that's not the point either. The point is she _looked_ at him, looked him dead in the eye that night outside the holosuites, and smiled like she knew something he didn't.

Yes, he'd been in love with Palis, but marriage had been far from his mind; marriage has always been far from his mind, until he met—encountered, perhaps is the better word—the O'Briens. The arguments are part of it, if he's being honest. The fire in them, the way they can bicker ferociously and in an hour they'll be holding each other again, talking intimately like no one else exists in the entire galaxy. The only people who know how to pacify one another. Julian doesn't want something _like_ that for himself. He wants _that_ specifically, the precise thing they have, with them in it. He wants to see it up close. He wants to be a part of it.

He has no idea what that means, or how it could possibly be accomplished.

He knows it probably doesn't matter, because O'Brien will be dead by sunrise, and Keiko will leave the station after that, and that will be the end of it, and he'll be back to wondering about Garak and regretting the way he used to trail Dax.

Selfish Julian, always thinking about yourself.

 

The sun rises, and O'Brien is still alive, and the T'Lani finally come, and it isn't to rescue them. They're to be murdered, just like all the other scientists, the last living beings with any knowledge of the Harvesters. It's barbaric; it's a bitter, unfair end to a long, brutal struggle. Just like that, he's going to die, _for a noble cause_ , the Ambassador claims. Wouldn't have happened if he'd followed Palis, would it.

But that wouldn't have felt right, either. He belongs here, beside O'Brien, having fought to survive until bested.

O'Brien demands to die on his feet, and Julian holds him, supporting his weight as best he can, feeling the sick fever-heat through his sweat-soaked uniform. At least this will be a quicker end for the Chief than this slow, agonizing disease.

"I'm sorry I didn't get us home, Chief," Julian murmurs.

"You did your best." O'Brien's breathing is wet and labored, but he's holding himself together well enough. He turns slightly, his face only inches away, bleary eyes flicking up to hold Julian's gaze. "It's been an honor serving with you," he says.

Julian regards him, the last thing he's going to see, which is well enough, he supposes. Somehow he hadn't expected these words, and now that he has them, he's not sure what to do. "Well, thank you, Chief," he says, feeling faintly amused, like this is all a big joke somehow. Nothing left to do with death but smile. "That means a lot."

Before he's even finished speaking these words, they're gone. But not by being shot, all expectations to the contrary; rather they are reassembled moments later onboard the Rio Grande.

( ~~o~~ )

Miles doesn't become fully cognizant of his surroundings again until the harsh white light of the Infirmary is burning his eyes. He has a vague memory of what all he's been through—talking Bashir through the transmitter, listening to him babble on about something or other, and babbling some in return, but it's all very hazy. What's important is Keiko is here, nestled on the bed with him, arms wrapped around him like she's never going to let go.

"Don't ever scare me like that again," she whispers.

"I'll do my best," he says wearily, smiling and burrowing his nose against her hair. She smells so good.

One thing he does remember is all the talk about marriage. Bashir's assertion of its inherent unfairness, and some hazy recollections of his own soliloquizing on the subject (but he doesn't feel the need to wave the fog away from that). On some level the Doctor was right, but he doesn't understand the understanding, the piece that makes marriage work at all. Keiko understands that as long as Miles is in Starfleet, 'his best' will always run the risk of not being enough. They make their promises, always with unspoken caveats. This is the closest they've ever come to losing each other.

"Dr. Bashir said he was able to completely remove the infection from your system," Keiko says. She pulls back so she can smile down at him, her fingers combing casually through his curls. "And he said you were very heroic."

Miles raises an eyebrow at that. She seems highly amused by the whole thing, which is well enough. Better that she can find humor in it, move past the agony she'd been in so recently. He knows her well enough to recognize a coping mechanism when he sees it. As soon as they're properly alone she's going to have to have a good cry, and he'll need to hold onto her for a good long while.

"I guess," he says noncommittally.

"Mm." She's still smiling, and he's starting to wonder if there's something else behind it, when she suddenly ducks down, reaching into her bag on the floor. "Oh! I almost forgot. Here."

She comes back up with a mug, and hands it over for his inspection.

He takes it and looks at it, bewildered. It's not like the mugs the replicator puts out—this one is white with decorative flower designs, simple but charming.

"What's this?" he says, turning it over in his hands.

"Something Molly made for you," says Keiko, grinning proudly. "She painted it herself."

He runs his finger over one of the flowers, feeling a little burst of awe and warmth for his daughter. He can't wait to hold her again. "Oh, it's lovely," he says, impressed. "She has real talent." Keiko grins and squeezes his shoulder in agreement.

"How's my patient?" says Bashir, striding into the room with a big smile on his face.

"Better." Miles glances at the Doctor only briefly before turning his eyes back to Keiko. "Can I go home now?" he asks the Doctor, even as he gives Keiko a sly smile.

"You should be out of here by tomorrow," says Bashir.

Miles represses a sigh, and Keiko gives him a reassuring pat. They can manage one more night apart.

Bashir draws a breath and says, with sudden gravity, "I just wanted to let you know how much I appreciated what you said back on T'Lani III."

Miles and Keiko both look at the Doctor; in his periphery (thank god he has that again) Miles can see Keiko perking up a little, intrigued. Miles, meanwhile has no idea what the man is referring to. It could be anything—who knows what all he said under the fever's influence. "What did I say?" he asks somewhat cautiously.

"That it was an honor serving with me." Bashir looks his age right now, hands behind his back, formally indicating his respect. It doesn't feel right. Miles has grown so used to the man being cocky and obnoxious, all this seriousness is off-putting.

To say nothing of the embarrassment he now must suffer, having given Bashir the impression that he enjoys his company. He smiles uneasily. "Oh, right," he says, avoiding eye contact.

True to form, Bashir isn't done. "And I'd like to return the compliment, if I may," he says. "It's been an honor working with you, too, Chief."

Well, that's... nice. Miles gives him a slightly less uneasy smile for his trouble. Maybe that'll be it, and it can just be a nice, respectful moment, and—

Or not. "You know, Mrs. O'Brien," says Bashir, now recovering that characteristic well-meaning arrogance of his, "they say that when two people face death together it creates a bond that can never be broken."

Miles throws Keiko a long-suffering look, just shy of rolling his eyes outright. Keiko meets his eyes but only smiles, seeming content to wait and see where this goes. He understands. It's up to him to stop this.

"I never believed that until I—" Bashir is saying.

"Julian." The first name comes out naturally, and Miles has some faint recollection of using it before. Makes sense. Sounds right, too. He supposes he's reached a point where he can just call the man by his name, as requested so long ago.

"Hm?" Julian looks at him attentively.

Miles just continues to grin at him, not entirely friendly, and raises his eyebrows in meaningful expectation.

Julian takes a moment to put it together, and then, hesitantly, maybe a little regretfully (what he has to regret, Miles cannot guess), he says, "Oh. Erm. Of course, you'd... like to be alone." He lingers, evidently incapable of just taking the damn hint without making a production of it. "I understand." He smiles warmly at them both, then slinks away.

Finally freed, Miles looks back at Keiko and then does roll his eyes, leaning his head back with a heavy sigh.

"Miles, he saved your life, you know," says Keiko sternly.

"Mhm. He's never gonna let me forget it."

Keiko leans closer, still looking intrigued. "So what was it like spending all that time alone with him?" she asks, rather coyly.

Miles scoffs at the question, wondering how she even has to ask. "It was hell!" he says, and she giggles softly. "I mean you can see for yourself, the man never stops talking."

The way she's looking at him—it seems like she has something she wants to say, but she can't quite get it out. He's not sure he wants to know, whether because he's convinced it'll be at his expense, or something else; something pushes him to move them forward. He looks at his new mug thoughtfully.

"You know," he says, "I wouldn't mind a cup of coffee right now."

Well, that works better than he could have imagined. Keiko's expression changes instantly, though not in a way that makes sense to him. In fact she looks shocked. "Miles, you never drink coffee in the afternoon."

He peers at her, curious that this should be an issue, and says, "Well, sure I do!"

Rather than reassure her of his sincerity, this only serves to distress her more. She pulls back sharply, staring at him, aghast. "You do?!"

"Keiko, I have to drink coffee pretty much all the time to keep myself going on this station," he says, openly bewildered.

"I—" She gets up and paces around the infirmary. "Since _when_?"

"Since... I dunno, I suppose since we got here. Maybe I didn't while we were on the Enterprise." He sits up as best he can, frowning at her. "What's wrong, darling?"

"Miles, if I'd known that—" She stops herself, holding up a hand as if to say _it's not worth it_. Normally that's a gesture that provokes irritation in him, but now he's just more confused than ever.

"What's going on?" he blurts even as she comes over to take the mug and head over to the replicator.

"I'm gonna have to explain later. Honestly I can't even think about it right now." She's laughing in spite of herself, seeming almost manic even as she sets the mug inside the replicator and tells the computer, "Coffee, black, double sweet."

Miles stares at her as she brings his drink back over and hands it to him with an air of reverence.

"I feel like I shouldn't drink this somehow," he says.

"You've earned it," she sighs, and sits down on the edge of his bed.

He continues eyeing her, and takes a purposefully loud sip.

"I was so sure you never drank coffee after noon," she says finally, her face buried in her hands. "The T'Lani gave us a fabricated recording of your death. They claimed you tripped some security system by accident and it vaporized everyone in the room. That didn't sound like you."

"You're damn right it doesn't," says Miles indignantly.

"I—I just wanted to believe that you were still alive somehow," says Keiko, and her voice is starting to get thick, well, it seems she's going to have that cry ahead of schedule. Miles quickly sets his coffee aside and reaches out to her, turning her gently toward him. She looks at him, unable to stop the tears from escaping. "I had to find something, I couldn't just say that... that you would never make that mistake, and—when I saw you drinking coffee, and I double-checked it, and it _was_ coffee, in the afternoon, I... I thought I had found it. That's the only reason Sisko and Dax went to look for you. That was our reasonable doubt. If I hadn't been _wrong_ about that... you'd be dead."

"Keiko," he says softly, and pulls her into his arms. She lets herself sob, muffled against his infirmary gown. "It's all right. It all worked out. I'm sure if it hadn't been that, it would've been something else."

Her sobs start to taper off before long; she's still eager to move past this, and neither of them are comfortable having this moment in the infirmary. She gives him a small nod, still buried against his shoulder.

"Hey. Look at me." He nudges her back, cupping her chin in his fingers. "The important thing is, the one time you _were_ wrong about something, it saved my life."

She laughs tearfully, and nods, and rubs at her eyes with no regard for her makeup until she's more or less back to normal. She has a little aftershock in the form of a full-body shudder, then unceremoniously reaches across him for the coffee, taking a big sip herself.

"Keiko!" he says, stunned.

"Ugh!" She sticks her tongue out, revolted, handing it back. "You're right. Still don't like it."

"Wrong twice now," he says light-heartedly, taking the cup back and sipping it more appreciatively. "What's gotten into you."

"Miles," she says, suddenly firm and direct. She lays a hand on his chest. "I want to invite Julian over for dinner."

He blinks at her. "What?!"

"He saved your life."

"I think we just established that _you_ saved my life," he grumbles.

"It was a group effort, then." Keiko leans in, smiling again. "We owe it to him. I insist."

"Keiko," Miles groans, but he can see there'll be no arguing the point, and finally he lets out a defeated sigh. "All right. Fine. In a while. Too soon and he won't shut up our 'unbreakable bond.'"

"That's the spirit," she says calmly, and leans in to kiss his cheek.


	4. Roundtable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, a chapter that pulls only from my IMAGINATION, not any episodes. This is set shortly after S2e22 - The Wire. As a longtime Garak/Bashir shipper I would be remiss if I didn't get our favorite tailor into the mix, even if it's only off screen for now.

It's been a very long day, starting with a massive power failure in one of the upper pylons, and that was only the beginning of a relentless uphill struggle. It seems like everything has been bent on going wrong. Miles is lucky he's working one of his rare short shifts today. Frankly, everyone else is lucky too.

He opens the doors to their quarters and is greeted by Molly colliding promptly with his shins. "Daddy!" she squeals, and giggles as he shifts his kit to one side and lifts her up in his arms.

"Hullo, sweetheart," he says, kissing the top of her head. He carries her in and slips his gear onto the sofa, where he spots Keiko in the makeshift kitchen area. She smiles at him, too busy managing multiple dishes to come over. Miles becomes belatedly aware that everything smells delicious.

"Cooking with the real thing, huh?" he observes, a little surprised.

"I got some ingredients from Commander Sisko," she says. "The rest was from markets on the Promenade. I've got a couple curries going. Come taste the Thai—is it spicy enough?"

"Gladly," he says, still rather nonplussed but happy to be taste-testing. He ambles over with Molly and sips tentatively from the offered spoon. "Tastes about perfect to me," he says. "Maybe a little more ginger. Only... what's the occasion?"

She looks up at him, and her smile fades when she realizes he's not joking. He forgot something. He's in trouble.

"Julian's going to be here in a half hour," she says. "I reminded you this morning!"

" _Oh_." Miles attempts an apologetic smile, which isn't terribly successful. "Right. Sorry, it's... it's been a hell of a day."

Keiko shoots a pointed look at their daughter, and he clears his throat and sets Molly down.

"Daddy, daddy, what do I wear?" she asks, tugging at his uniform.

"Daddy'll go with you in a minute to help you figure that out," he says. "Go on to your room, pick some things out, okay?"

Molly trots off to cover her bed in at least five different dresses, going by previous engagements. Miles looks at Keiko, who's still giving him a serious side-eye while she stirs the curry.

"Are you sure it's not too late to back out," he says, which is a joke, mostly.

" _Miles_ ," she says sternly. "I told you, I want to treat him to dinner. It's my way of thanking him for taking good care of you."

Miles lets out a dry, humorless chuckle. "His food'll be cold by the time he's done talking long enough to eat."

Keiko shakes her head, smirking at him. She's enjoying this, and she's going to continue enjoying it, knowing her.

"You think I'm exaggerating," he says. "I'm _not_. You know he comes up to Ops when he's not even been called, just to talk to all of us about what he's done all day?"

"Well, if I were in his position, I'd get lonely at the Infirmary all day."

"He's Chief Medical Officer!" Miles protests. "He's not a child. He can't come and disrupt our work just because he _had lunch with the spy_ again."

"Wait, what?" She glances at him with a curious smile as she starts setting the table.

Great. Now that's been brought up. Miles sighs heavily and says, "That Cardie tailor, Garak. Doctor Bashir... has _lunch_ with him. Quite regularly, I'm given to understand."

"Since when is Garak a spy?" says Keiko, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, believe me, it's very likely," says Miles. "Even if the Doctor does have an overactive imagination." He steps over to the table to help Keiko set up, wanting to distract himself, but unable to steer away from this topic now that it's been started. "He just can't shut up about the man. I don't understand how he puts up with that smug Cardassian attitude, but that's bad enough without having to subject _us_ to all of it."

"Garak's not so bad," says Keiko. "He's always very courteous when I visit his shop. Remember, he mended that dress Molly tore so badly?"

"So he's a good tailor," he mutters. "Doesn't mean I'd want to have lunch with him every day."

"Miles, you're being very judgmental," she chides him gently, heading back to check on the food. "Try not to get all fired up right before we have a guest coming."

Miles grunts, and is rescued from further discussion of the subject when Molly emerges from her room again, calling, "Daddy, I'm _ready_!"

"Coming, love." Miles leans over to give Keiko a belated kiss on the cheek and then steals away to Molly's room. She's tossed several brightly colored dresses on the bed in a heap. One of them, he notes, is the very dress Keiko just mentioned, the one Garak mended for them. It's always been Molly's favorite. Miles feels an uncomfortable itch when he thinks about Cardassian hands on the clothes worn by his daughter. Best not to think about it.

Of course, not thinking about Garak is nearly impossible when Bashir sees fit to bring him up at every occasion. Though there has been a lull in it lately, now that he thinks about it—in fact, ever since that whole mess with the implant in Garak's head, Bashir hasn't said a word about him.

Best _not_ to think about it.

He settles down on the edge of Molly's bed, pulling her up onto his lap. "All right," he says, "what have we here?"

 

Keiko starts ladling the curries into serving bowls and setting them onto the table. They should have just enough time to cool before Julian arrives.

She should have anticipated Miles forgetting about this, or rather failing to listen when she told him this morning. He has been under a lot of stress, and she knew when she made these arrangements that it was going to be difficult. She's been tempted more than once to just broach the subject directly with him, but she's resisted to the last. In their past entanglements, it's generally worked out better when Miles is allowed to become aware of his own feelings in due time, to have it revealed from the source. In her limited experience watching the two interact, it's very clear to her that the two of them share a certain mutual interest, but whether that translates to action is up in the air. She doubts Julian knows about their arrangement, anyway. Most people assume their marriage to be a closed affair; they rarely give reason to think otherwise.

Tonight is going to be interesting.

The introduction of Garak to the conversation is something of a surprise, and a concern. She knows all too well how preoccupied Miles can become by his feelings about Cardassians. She's in no position to judge him for it—she knows what he went through during the Cardassian War. But if he and Julian are likely to clash over this, and Miles already seems to be gunning for it, well...

Tonight is going to be _very_ interesting.

"Mommy, look!" Molly comes bounding out of her room and twirls in her favorite purple dress. Keiko crouches down to get on her daughter's eye level, smiling warmly and inviting her to come in for a few adjustments.

"Oh, don't you look beautiful!" she says, fussing slightly with the ruffles and then giving Molly a little kiss on the forehead. "Did Daddy help you put it on?"

"Nuh-uh. I did it all by myself."

"What a big girl!" Keiko straightens up and smiles at Miles, who shrugs.

"I helped with the shoes," he says.

"Well done." Keiko cross over to him and takes his arm. "Now I'd better help _you_ get dressed."

"Yeah!" Molly declares excitedly, and hugs Miles' leg again.

Miles is less than enthused. "Do I need to—"

Keiko gives him a look. "Miles, don't you _want_ to get out of your uniform after the day you've had?"

"Daddy, don't _you_ have any pretty dresses?" Molly asks, looking up at him.

"Pretty dresses don't really suit daddy's figure," he says with a little smile, then looks at Keiko. "You know _he's_ probably going to be in his uniform."

"Actually I invited him to dress casually," she says, opting not to add that she did so knowing this might be the only way to gets Miles out of his uniform. He likes wearing it a little too much, in Keiko's opinion.

"Daddy, _please_?" Molly stares up at Miles, adopting this negotiation as a life-and-death issue.

Miles sighs and leans down to separate Molly from his leg. "All right," he says. "You go and play, Mommy will help Daddy get dressed. Okay?"

"Okay!" Molly scurries back to her room, and Keiko leads Miles to theirs.

"You're enjoying this," he accuses in a low voice.

"Is there some reason I shouldn't?" She smiles smugly and pushes him over to the bed, guiding him to sit down, leaving him immediately lest he get the wrong idea. "We so rarely get the chance to entertain. I may as well make the best of it."

"More likely he'll be the one entertaining," he mutters as she tosses one of her favorites of his shirts onto his lap.

"Well, and what's wrong with that?" She turns around, handing him his trousers and leans back against the dresser, her arms folded. "Honestly, Miles, it won't be as bad as you're making it out to be. You can get along with him, I'm sure of it."

"I know I can," he says, a touch defensive. He starts stripping off his uniform as if to prove his willingness to play along. "I'm sorry, I'll be good. I guess I'm just nervous, is all."

"Nervous?" She latches onto that too quick for him to pull it back. All innocence, she says, "What do you have to be nervous about?"

He gives her a slow sidelong glance. "Nothing," he says casually after a pause that is anything but. "Just... I hope I don't make a mess of anything."

That's a lie Keiko knows when she hears it. But she also has the distinct impression he _doesn't_ in fact know what he has to be nervous about. She isn't about to make him writhe over it.

She closes the distance between them, touching his shoulders and leaning up to brush her lips against his cheek. "You'll do fine."

 

Julian is a few minutes early. He'd meant to dawdle more, but it seems he didn't quite manage it. He's eager. Well, excited. Well, terrified. All of the above.

He's standing outside their quarters holding a bottle of wine Quark had obtained for him, actively stalling. He's just not sure what to _expect_. The invitation was an innocent one, and a welcome one, and surely the invitation to dress casually was also nothing more than innocent, and it's all going to be a very pleasant _innocent_ evening between adults, and he would hate to bungle it with his own awkward suppositions. Well, hopes. Well—

Is he going to just stand in the corridor until the last two minutes tick down? Ideally he'd have been a little _late_. That's fashionable, isn't it?

Just what does he think is about to happen? An image flits through him, the O'Briens awaiting him in some sort of low-lit seductive tableau. No, all right, perish that thought and bury it in the garden in an unmarked grave. Get a _hold_ of yourself, Julian.

Someone is going to stumble across him if he delays any further, just standing like a fool outside the O'Briens' door, and then they'll draw their own conclusions. He clears his throat and raises his hand to the door chime.

"Come in!" Keiko calls from within. Immediately after, a small voice echoes: "Come in!"

Right. Molly. Somehow he managed to selectively _forget_ that they have a daughter.

The door opens, and he's immediately greeted by the little girl, who is holding up a drawing for him to see.

"Look, it's my mommy and daddy," she says proudly.

"Molly, let the man come in first," says Miles, sounding a bit harried. Julian glances at him and is caught momentarily off guard by the sight of him in civilian clothes. Which is ridiculous. It's not something he hasn't seen before. It's just—

It's just him, dressed down, with his wife, here in their quarters. With their daughter, and him, the intruder on their pleasant domestic world. Julian is not ready for this. His internal monologue is behaving like a frantic schoolboy.

"Oh, th-that's all right," he says with a weak smile, taking a step in.

" _Look_!" Molly pleads, and he obliges her by reaching down to take the picture, studying it with great care. She's drawn a colorful and rather detailed portrait of her parents, holding hands in front of an expanse of stars, with a bright blue swell that must be the wormhole. The traditional family-and-house motif explored by many young children, from a child who's grown up in space.

"They look lovely," he says, smiling fondly as he hands it back.

"What do we say, Molly?" Keiko says from across the room, preoccupied with finishing up the table.

"Thank you," Molly mumbles, suddenly shy.

"Come on in," says Miles. "Like a drink? We have the real stuff."

"Oh, I... actually brought you some." Julian offers the wine for inspection, and Miles takes it slowly, examining the label. "I got it from Quark. I hope it's all right."

"That's so thoughtful, Julian, thank you," says Keiko warmly. "Come have a seat, dinner's ready. Come here, Molly."

Molly skips over to the table, where Keiko tries to help her into her chair—"I can do it!" Molly protests—and Miles takes his seat immediately and without ceremony. As usual, Julian isn't sure how to read him. He's being very perfunctory, not making eye contact, not offering much in the way of welcome—which is all within normal operating bounds for the Chief. Again, Julian's not sure what he expects. He proceeds to the table, keeping his attention on Keiko for now. She is much easier to understand, and right now she's smiling. That's encouraging.

"Everything smells delicious, Mrs. O'Brien," he says.

She waves him off, though she seems pleased by the comment. "Oh, please, call me Keiko."

"Keiko," he says, his lips quirking into a rather shy smile. He glances at Miles, who he catches glancing at _him_ , and who upon being caught looks away quickly. Again, Julian stays with Keiko, settling into his seat across from her. "Is that curry?"

"Very good! A few different kinds—Indian here, and this one is Thai." Keiko indicates the two main serving bowls, then points out a smaller one, whose contents are redder than the others. "And this is Japanese. I made them all with a mix of ingredients I got from Commander Sisko and a few merchants on the Promenade—only the rice is replicated."

"That is marvelous," says Julian with genuine awe, looking between the three dishes. "Do you always cook with non-replicated ingredients?"

"Not as often as I'd like," says Keiko. "It's kind of a once-in-a-while occasion."

"Well, I am honored to be that occasion," says Julian, smiling at her. She is significantly better than her husband at holding eye contact, so much so that it throws Julian a bit, and he ducks his head down with an awkward little laugh.

"Do you like vegetables?" Molly pipes up, staring at Julian from across the table. Keiko sits beside her, spooning rice and some of the Japanese curry onto her plate.

Julian regards her with a playful little smirk, and leans in as if preparing to impart a great secret. "I _love_ vegetables," he says.

"And so does Molly," says Keiko with a pointed glance at her daughter. "Especially when they're in the special sauce she likes."

"Yuck!" Molly insists.

Keiko rolls her eyes subtly and catches Julian's eye again, giving him a sort of commiserating smile—he doesn't have children, but he knows what they're like, that sort of thing—and says, a bit apologetically, "She's going through this very contrarian phase right now."

"I see." Julian nods, and looks at Molly a moment longer. "Well, Molly, you know what I'm _not_ so fond of, is _rice_." He throws Miles a quick wink. "But your mother made all this beautiful rice to go with all these nice vegetables, so I'm just gonna have to eat it."

"I _like_ rice," says Molly doubtfully.

Julian smiles. "Well, we'll make a deal. If I can eat all my rice, you have to eat all your vegetables. I'm sure we can make it together."

Molly peers at him with a dubiousness strikingly reminiscent of her father, then finally nods. "Okay," she says, banging her little fist on the table, making the pact official.

"Have you ever thought about having children, Julian?" says Keiko, serving herself some of the Indian curry. "Please, take whatever you want. There's a bit more of each simmering if we need it."

"I, er—" Julian almost misses the instruction about the food, the question having stopped him in his tracks. He recovers enough to help himself to the Indian curry as well, making sure to give himself a heaping amount of rice to go with it. "I can't say I have, no."

He has been intentionally avoiding looking at Miles, and Miles has been noticeably silent throughout the conversation so far. Now Julian steals a glance, and finds him patiently helping himself to some Thai curry, eyes down, patient and unassuming.

Julian swallows thickly. He has no idea how to interpret this, and no idea if he even _should_ be interpreting it. Maybe he should be the first to say something. He usually is.

"Er, Miles," he says softly, drawing the man to look up. He looks a little bit startled. "May I call you Miles? I, er... wouldn't mind that drink now."

 

Keiko and Julian are getting along _great_.

Miles isn't sure how to feel about that.

On the one hand, he's always happy to see Keiko happy, and he's glad she's having a good time. On the other, this is only going to encourage her to invite Julian over more often, to say nothing of how much it'll encourage Julian to insinuate himself into their lives. He seems very keen on it. He's even great with Molly. Miles feels like he ought to be giving the young man credit for all this, but instead he's... what, annoyed? Did he _want_ the evening to be a disaster?

He can't figure it out. He gets up to clear dishes away to the replicator, leaving Julian and Keiko to the friendly chatter that has grown up over dinner, and has covered everything from how Miles and Keiko first met to quite a number of stories about Lt. Commander Data to Julian's many wearying stories about his adventures in Starfleet Academy. Miles has even contributed here and there. He's been good, like he told Keiko he would be. And the evening _isn't_ a disaster. He's even enjoyed himself some.

Julian isn't so bad.

Why, then, can't he just lighten up already? He feels so incredibly cagey, has done all night long. Like something's about to boil over, only he doesn't know what.

"Oh, Chief," says Julian, twisting in his chair to look up at him. At least he gave up on 'Miles' nice and fast. "Could I trouble you for a refill?"

"I'll take one too," says Keiko. "Molly, you did such a good job with your vegetables!"

"Knew we could do it," says Julian. Miles catches him giving Molly a wink. He's still not sure how to digest the similar sign he received earlier.

True, there isn't a faster way to his good side than being good with his daughter. True, the night has gone very smoothly so far. True, Julian is... growing on him.

There's a question that's starting to become inevitable, only he can't ask it until Molly's gone to bed.

He sets out drinks for everyone, moving things from the table to the living area. Molly is instructed to get into her pajamas, after which she'll be allowed to sit with them a little while longer. She's very sleepy, which is making her shy, but it's clear even so that she's taken a shine to the Doctor. They haven't seen the last of him in their quarters, and Miles knows it.

Molly and Keiko sit on the floor and Keiko braids Molly's hair; Miles sits in his armchair and Julian on the sofa. As Keiko and Julian carry on talking, it becomes clear to Miles that they—all three of them, in fact—are starting to get tipsy. Which makes getting Molly to bed slightly more urgent.

During an eventual lull in conversation, Keiko finishes Molly's hair and says, "I think it's about time for bed, sweetie."

"You want a story?" says Miles before she can protest.

"I want Ju-yan to tell me a story," she says, failing to disguise a yawn.

"Oh, I—" Julian's eyes go wider than usual at the suggestion; he looks a little alarmed by the possibility. Miles chuckles at him, setting his drink aside and going to crouch before Molly, who's now curled up against Keiko's chest.

" _Julian_ won't do your voices, huh?" he says. "Come on, I'll tell a real good one."

"Okay," she says, tired enough to be complacent, just shy of sulky.

Keiko hands her off, and Miles lifts her up, letting her rest heavy on his shoulder. "Won't be long," he says to wife and guest, and carries Molly into her room.

"M'not sleepy," Molly says, sleepily, as Miles lays her into bed and tucks her under the blankets.

"Well, Daddy'll stay with you until you get there," says Miles, brushing a stray hair out of her face. He smiles fondly down at her. "You like Julian, huh?"

"Yeah," she says, her eyelids already fluttering.

"Good." Miles leans down and kisses her forehead. "What d'you want a story about?"

She mumbles something in reply, but it's barely words. Miles gazes down at her until her breathing slows and she's out.

"Sweet dreams, love," he murmurs, and switches out her light.

 

"He really _won't_ be long, she was so tired," says Keiko, smiling towards Molly's room. "I doubt they'll have time for a story."

"He tells her stories often, I take it?" says Julian. He's leaning on the sofa with rather luxuriant posture, angled somewhat towards her; with Molly no longer keeping her on the floor, she hoists herself up beside him. A respectable distance between them, but not _too_ respectable. He's been showing gentle, tentative interest in both of them tonight, and it pleases her to no end. Now the real trick will be seeing what happens when Miles returns. Without Molly in the room, things have a bit more give.

"He does," she says. "Every night he can. It's their favorite thing to do together."

He grins and rests his head against his fist, elbow braced on the back of the sofa. He looks like he's posing for a self-important author's portrait. Keiko does her best not to chuckle at him, a little too tipsy to keep herself completely above it, but Julian is caught up enough that he either doesn't notice or attributes it elsewhere.

"That's so sweet," he says softly. "My parents didn't really have a tradition like that with me."

Something changes, a lower dip in his voice, or something—hard to pin down what, exactly. Keiko peers at him thoughtfully, wondering if she should pursue it.

"What do your parents do?" she asks after a moment.

Julian draws a breath slowly, and this time she's definitely not imagining it. This is a tricky subject. "My father has been many things in my lifetime, and will likely be many more; I have no idea what his current passion project is. He changes his mind about what he actually wants to do with his life just about as easily as anything." If he is trying to disguise his bitterness, he does a poor job. "My mother comes from a dynasty of sociologists." He sighs and shifts his weight.

"You don't get along with them," she says.

He blinks at her in open bewilderment—did he think he was being discreet?

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry," she says.

"Am I that obvious," he sighs. ( _Yes,_ she wants to say, maybe shaking him by the shoulders as she says it.) "It's all right, nothing worth going into. The point is, you and Miles—"

"She and I what," says Miles, emerging from Molly's room. There's no accusation in his tone, at least not yet, but Julian reacts with immediate nervousness, looking up like a startled rabbit.

"Quick story?" says Keiko, endeavoring to keep things level.

"None needed." Miles shrugs and returns to his armchair, not sitting back to relax, but rather hunched forward with his elbows on his knees. "She's out cold. You were saying, Doctor?"

Keiko suspects Miles will always behave this way around Julian, at least in some shape or form; their personalities do lend themselves to a sort of one-upmanship. She could see them growing into a pattern of droll banter and jokes at each other's expense. But they aren't yet on the same playing field. Julian is still nervous.

Fortunately, he recovers himself some, and says, "I was just saying I think you two are marvelous parents."

"Oh." Miles gives a slight, hesitating nod, as if to say _I suppose you're right_.

"And—I want to thank you both for inviting me here tonight," he says, relaxing under the comfort of his own gratitude. "As you know I don't... have many connections on the station yet, and it's really quite something to be welcomed into your family's home like this, and to see this side of you both."

Keiko hides a smile. She still hasn't really accepted this place as home. Judging by the glance Miles sends her way, that's just what he's thinking, too.

" _This_ side," Miles echoes dubiously.

Just like that, he's tripped poor Julian up again; he fumbles for a moment, struggling to form words, his thoughts racing almost visibly. "I mean—that is to say—"

"As opposed to the side where... _living_ on this station isn't _conducive_ to our marriage," says Miles.

And there he goes. Keiko drops her head into one hand, massaging her brow in an effort to downplay her dismay at the turn he's suddenly taken. "Miles," she says, letting her exasperation be known.

"He... told you about that, I take it," says Julian uncomfortably.

"Yes, Julian," says Miles, rather unkindly. "Keiko and I _talk_ about things. That's what it means to be married."

"And in the spirit of that, we'll be talking about _this_ later," says Keiko, raising her head again to give him a very pointed look.

"Please, I—don't want to cause any trouble," says Julian, who seems to be handling this a little better than either of them expected. "And I meant no offense. I'm sorry if that's how it came off. I just meant it's... nice to be with... friends."

Julian is looking toward Miles now, so he can't see the look Keiko is giving her husband. Raised eyebrows, pursed lips, attempting to communicate _there, are you happy now_ with as much efficacy as possible.

Miles glances between the two of them for a few moments before nodding and taking a sip from his drink.

"Well, no harm done," he says, and he might even mean it, but it seems he's not finished piloting the evening into a black hole, and says mildly, "S'funny you should say you don't have many connections, though. You being as gregarious as you are. I mean. What about Garak?"

Keiko sits up ramrod straight, and she's no longer sober or calm enough to mask her actions; she's certain Julian has noticed, but he doesn't look at her, maintaining contact with Miles.

"What _about_ Garak," he repeats, low and with the subtle implication that he's prepared to defend himself on this one.

"Okay, I think maybe we've all—" Keiko starts, but Miles actually cuts her off: "I thought you'd been spending a lot of time with him."

"Yes, we have lunch, and last week, I saved his life," says Julian quite calmly. "Would you mind enlightening me to your point, Chief?"

"I _don't_ think that's a good idea," says Keiko, standing up briskly. "Miles, may I speak to you for a minute?"

Miles finally relents his position some, easing back into his chair. He waves her off, failing to meet her eyes, like a guilty dog. "Fine, fine. It's not important."

"I'm terribly sorry, Mrs. O'Brien, but I do think I'm going to have to press the issue," says Julian quietly. "Do you have a problem with Mr. Garak's presence on the station, Chief?"

"No, I don't have a _problem_ with his _presence_ ," says Miles irritably.

Keiko raises her hands as if to interrupt them again, then thinks better of it and just steps away, rolling her eyes for all to see. She picks up her own glass and takes Miles' right out of his hand, carrying them to the replicator.

"You have a problem with him being Cardassian, though."

"I have a problem with _Cardassians_ ," Miles snaps. "How you can stand to eat lunch with that—that sanctimonious—"

"No one's asking you to understand it, Chief," says Julian quite stiffly. "And frankly, how I spend my time is none of your business."

It is good, if nothing else, to see that he has teeth when he needs to have them. Keiko stands at the replicator and quietly summons a glass of water, deciding to let them spin their wheels until they get too loud or intervention becomes a necessity. It is worth reminding herself that Miles would never behave this way with just any guest. This attitude is reserved for the people he cares most about.

"That's funny, because just last week it was _everyone's_ business," says Miles, now upgrading his hostility to include emphatic gestures.

"Well _last week_ , things were different," Julian says, and Keiko has the immediate impression that he hadn't meant for it to come out quite like that. His mouth shuts abruptly and he sort of gawps at Miles until he finally turns his attention back down to his drink.

Miles just stares at him for a moment and Keiko has another immediate impression, that she is about to witness a crash.

"Why?" he says, obstinately avoiding the implication even though Keiko is _certain_ he is aware of it. "What's different now?"

Julian sits there gripping his unfinished drink. "I'd rather not talk about it, if—"

"Wait a minute," says Miles, "you're not—"

Keiko had been preparing to give Miles a considerable talking-to over this—and she hasn't fully abandoned that plan, but the stakes have changed. Up until now it has seemed that Miles allowed his prejudices to get in the way of accepting a perfectly kind compliment from the young Doctor. Now, she realizes, he must have suspected this all along, and he has _no idea_ how utterly, bitterly jealous he is.

The irony is nowhere near amusing enough to justify the mess it's making.

"I said it was no business of yours," says Julian tersely.

"Miles," Keiko interjects, taking a step toward them.

"Don't tell me you're actually _dating_ that Cardie!" Miles says, completely aghast and losing all touch with his own sense of proportion over it.

" _Don't_ call him that," Julian snaps, finally getting to his feet.

And that's the tipping point. Keiko steps between them, her voice lowered to an angry hiss: "You will both _calm down_ and _sit_ before you wake Molly up or you can finish this conversation up at Quark's."

She stares Miles down until he complies, looking irritable but reasonably cowed.

She looks back at Julian, who's already seated again, the fight gone out of him, staring at the wall. He looks shell-shocked.

"Keiko," he says softly, "I'm—"

"Don't apologize," she says, holding up a hand to stop him, looking at Miles. "You. Explain yourself."

Miles avoids her gaze. She is coming very close to what she doesn't want to do, which is outing both of them, putting the entire marital arrangement on the table without the required prior discussion, and letting them hash it out like that. She would rather not resort to that.

" _Miles_ ," she says expectantly.

"Keiko..." Julian sounds desperately uncomfortable, poor thing. She would rather this get resolved before he manages to duck out for the night. "It's really all right."

"No, it's not." Miles sighs heavily and pinches the bridge of his nose, rubbing at a probable headache. "I'm sorry, Julian. It's been a long day, and... I've been having some bad memories. It's nothing to do with you."

The room is quiet for a moment, and Keiko relaxes her stance somewhat. That's better. Maybe they can make it out of this one alive after all.

"I understand," Julian says. "And for what it's worth I'm sorry, too. I certainly didn't mean to imply anything about—well. All I meant to say was, it's been a lovely evening." He manages a little grin. "For the most part."

Miles chuckles at that, dry and brief, but good enough. "Listen, I don't get it, but... Well, I don't get it. I guess that's all. None of my business anyway."

"He's actually quite affectionate," Julian offers. "In his way. I still can't get him to _talk_ about himself, and I don't think he's big on, well... romance, I suppose? But I don't even know if that's the right word. We don't have any real plan, just—"

"It's _none_ of my business," says Miles carefully, giving Julian a look.

"Oh." Julian's smile is weak, embarrassed. "Right."

Keiko is glad they've settled back down, and glad Julian is happy, but this does complicate matters. She can't just ask him casually if they're exclusive. Well, she could, and it would probably be funny, but it wouldn't be very fair.

She settles for subtlety, because that has to work at _some_ point, right?

"Well, I hope you'll still have time to visit with us now and again." She touches his shoulder lightly. "We'd still love to have you, single or otherwise."

Actually, that might have been too much.

 

Wait. What?

Julian blinks up at her, wanting to accept the comment casually, not quite able to make it. After all that just occurred, he's a little shaky, in no fit state to misread anything else, but... _what does that mean?_

"Yeah," says Miles, and at a glance he seems a little bewildered by it as well, though not in the same way Julian is. And if Julian could read people, that would be helpful to him. "Seriously, Julian, don't mind me. We'll do this again sometime. And thanks, for being so good with Molly."

Right. Onward. Julian pulls his gaze from Keiko and nods distractedly. "Yes. Of course. She's a lovely girl." He gets to his feet. "I should, erm—"

"Yeah, it's getting pretty late," says Miles, getting up as well.

"Do you want the rest of your wine?" Keiko asks, whisking off to fetch the half-drunk bottle.

"No, that's all right. Keep it." Julian straightens his tunic nervously. "Thank you both. For the dinner, the company, and the rousing combat."

"Best keep that to the court from now on, eh," says Miles with the semblance of a joke.

Keiko walks him to the door. "One thing before you go," she says when Julian is half into the corridor. "Living on the station might be hard for us. But that's not what makes us fight. It's just the way we are. Looks like you've just had your first taste of that." She smiles, reaches out and pats his arm. "Welcome to the family," she says lightly, and steps back to let the doors slide shut.

Well.

That's... well.

Julian is right back to where he was at the start of this—standing awkwardly in the corridor, not sure what to do. Not sure if he's misreading or misjudging or letting hope color his interpretation of innocuous comments, or... well...

He draws a steadying breath and lets it out in a huff. Nothing is going to get resolved in the hallway. He turns on his heel to walk back to his quarters.

He has a lot to think about.


	5. Three Points of Contact

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some dialogue from S3e3 - The House of Quark
> 
> This was supposed to be the last chapter, but I misjudged how long it was gonna be, so now there's one more to go. Enjoy!

And then one day Commander Sisko took his son, along with Quark and Nog, on a field trip to the Gamma Quadrant, and came back with a brewing invasion.

Nothing is quite the same after that. More and more families start leaving the station, more and more work to be done to prepare for whatever awaits them. Miles finds his downtime significantly lessened. Any movement there had been in his personal life, wherever it was going, halts.

And then Keiko closes her school.

For days Miles watches her drift from bonsai to bonsai, tending and trimming them, stopping to read a little or play with Molly, and then sitting and staring into sometimes-literal space for long periods of time. She stops getting dressed in the mornings. Why should she? She has nowhere to go, and no one comes to visit. He pours all his free energy and attention into doting on her, making her luxurious dinners, taking her out on dates, spending his lunches with her; every time she enjoys herself, smiling and laughing and joking with him, and he thinks maybe this has done it—and then the distraction wears away, he has to return to work, and her clouded, faraway look comes right back.

This isn't going to be a simple fix. He can't just make it go away with a smile. But what can he do? It's not like he can take her away from here—he can't leave the station now, not with the threat of the Dominion looming. He just wishes there was something _here_ —something _green_ , something for her to do.

The idea of an arboretum is a fortifying one. A place where she can go, work, _be_ outside their quarters. As good a gift as any he's given her. Commander Sisko readily gives permission, and Miles sets about designing it at once.

He's fine-tuning the layout on a data tablet in the Replimat when Julian finds him. Miles sees him approaching out of the corner of his eye.

"Good afternoon, Chief," he says as he steps past.

Miles glances up at him. "Doctor."

Behind him, Julian instructs the replicator: "Plomeek soup, hot, and with a touch of basil."

Miles resists the urge to laugh at Julian's hopelessly posh pronunciation of basil, and continues working, though he soon becomes distinctly aware that Julian's eyes are on him; or rather, on his tablet. He turns slowly and they regard one another for a moment. Julian gives him an affable smile. Miles promptly turns back to his work. He stares at the design, feeling a sudden and ill-timed wave of insecurity. Is this going to work? What the hell does he know about arboretums, anyway?

Miles looks back up at Julian and then hands the tablet over. "What do you think?"

Julian looks surprised, not unpleasantly. "You're asking _my_ opinion?"

Miles doesn't dignify that with a response.

Julian takes the tablet and studies it as he steps around the table, setting his soup down and sitting opposite. "An arboretum," he says. "For Keiko, I presume. To make her a little happier now the school's closed down."

Miles is instantly annoyed by his perceptiveness. Sometimes he's the slowest man in the world when it comes to picking up on cues; and sometimes, he comes out with something directly on point.

"It's not just for Keiko!" Miles protests as though the suggestion is some kind of affront.

Julian looks up at him, startled by the outburst.

"I mean..." Miles scrambles for a justification. "It'd benefit the entire station!"

Julian nods politely and goes back to examining the design.

_N_ _o Garak today?_ Miles wants to ask, feeling the impulse to push the conversation away from himself, to put distance between them. Not a _want_ , just a reflexive itch. He doesn't want to change topics—he wants advice, dammit, and he's going to get it.

Finally, he relents: "...Do you think it'll work?"

"Absolutely," says Julian resolutely, and hands the tablet back. "For about two months. Then you'll be right back where you started."

Miles looks at him in outright confusion, then at the tablet, as though the answer lies there, then back at Julian. "Two months?"

Julian asserts the posture and tone of a man who knows what he's talking about. Under the circumstances, Miles will allow it. "Well, it's been my experience that during any serious disagreement, a smile and sweet words will buy you two hours. Flowers will buy you a week." He smiles playfully. "An _arboretum_ , well. That's at _least_ two months. But in the end, you still have to solve the underlying problem."

_There's no disagreement_ , Miles almost argues, catching himself because deep down he knows that's not the point. He's frustrated by Julian's response, which seems to sidestep explanation in favor of predictions Miles somehow knows to be accurate. Like seeing the answer to a math problem without seeing the proof.

"I thought an arboretum would give her a chance to continue her studies," he protests. "Help her find something to do with her time."

"Like a hobby.”

"Exactly!"

"Exactly why it won't _work_ ," says Julian firmly. "You can't ask her to turn her profession into a hobby. Would _you_ be satisfied just puttering around in a workshop, building nano-circuitboards and playing with tricorders?"

Miles' face falls. He looks at his work, shoulders slumping slightly. Julian's right, but that's not the problem, and it's not all the work he put in for naught, either. It's that he couldn't put this together himself. As if Julian understands Keiko better than he does. "I suppose not," he murmurs.

"You're a chief of operations," says Julian gently. "I'm a doctor. And Keiko is a botanist. And until she can _be_ a botanist again, I'm not sure she's ever gonna be happy."

Miles meets his eyes briefly, then lowers his gaze to the tablet, frowning, pressing a hand to his mouth in thought.

"I'm sorry, Chief," says Julian.

"Don't be." Miles sets the tablet down and sighs heavily. "You're right. You're absolutely right."

"Doesn't leave you in a very enviable position." Julian dips his spoon into his soup and blows over it lightly. "I mean, unless Commander Sisko can find some urgent need for a botanist..."

Miles nods. "You've observed before how hard this is on her. On us."

The spoon clinks lightly against the bowl as Julian freezes for a moment, plainly in no hurry to bring all _that_ up again.

"It _has_ been hard," says Miles, holding up a hand to show he has no intention of disturbing the peace. "But when we moved here, we made an agreement that we were gonna stick together. Make this work. And we have. But even being a teacher was just another distraction, wasn't it? In the end she was gonna end up here, one way or another."

Julian says nothing, considering him thoughtfully. Calm, passive, but concerned. Really, really listening. For perhaps the first time ever, Miles is fully conscious of how glad he is to have him here. Listening. Not just talking.

"I think I know what needs to happen," says Miles finally.

Julian raises an eyebrow, clearly wanting to know his plan, but Miles has no intention of going into it now without talking to Keiko first. And he needs to do some research before then. "I'll be going," he says, and gets up, tucking his tablet under his arm. "Got some things I need to work out. Listen, Julian... thanks."

Julian looks at him, eyes wide, lips parted slightly. This is a momentous occasion, of course, all that sincerity and gratitude, it really ought to be funny; but instead Miles feels almost caught by his stare. He manages to keep talking, because he has to: "I really needed to hear that. You... well. It means a lot to me that you... care about Keiko."

"Of course," Julian stammers. "I, I feel very, erm, that is, you're both important to me. I... hope you can find a way to go on making this... work."

"Yeah." Miles ducks his head down. "All right." He turns away and shuffles off quickly, falling back into the safety net of separation.

( ~~o~~ )

Keiko tries to lose herself in the color and noise that makes up the lower level of Quark's, gazing down on it from her perch above. As objectionable as she often finds the proprietor, she does enjoy coming here, watching that sea of movement and vice from up here, at their customary table. She desperately needs the distraction and the change in atmosphere. She dreads returning to their quarters, where everything is the same, the same grey tones, the same smells, the same textures and low mind-numbing room tone. Nothing for her to do but tend her daughter and her plants.

Right now she is trying very hard to divert her attention by eyeing up one of the dabo girls. Quark does like them tall. And never wearing quite enough. She wonders idly if they actually enjoy their work.

"Maybe we should start seeing people again," she says absently.

"What?"

She turns back to Miles with a little smile. He's been distracted all night, probably overloaded with work as usual, but still he's made so much time for her lately. "I don't know, don't you miss it? Having other people in our lives?"

"Well, sure I do," he says. "But I thought... what with Molly getting older..."

"...That she should probably start getting used to the idea of having multiple parental figures around?" she teases him.

Miles chuckles. "I suppose, yeah. I mean—"

Quark's nasal little voice disrupts their conversation abruptly as he strides up beside them, setting drinks on the table. "Yridian ale for you," he says to Miles, "and some Gamzian wine for the lady."

"Thank you, Quark," Miles mutters, taking a hefty sip.

Quark sighs wistfully and stays put, tray clutched to his chest.

Miles looks up at him slowly. " _Thank_ you, Quark."

"How _are_ you two?" Quark says without fully looking at them. "Still married? One would assume, but you'd be amazed at how quickly a thing like that can change."

"What?!" Miles sits up, gaping at the little man. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"I was married," says Quark, locking eyes with Keiko, who can't help smirking at him. "Once." Another theatrical, wistful sigh. "What a time that was."

Miles continues to stare at him for several disbelieving seconds before he says, "You're talking about _earlier today_? The Klingon woman who kidnapped you and forced you to marry her so she wouldn't lose her House?"

"We did have some adventures," says Quark.

"And then her brother nearly killed you," Keiko adds helpfully.

" _Dishonorably_ ," says Quark, picking up steam. He's been telling this story all day. They've each heard it at least twice. "I had to think on my feet. I'm still standing, aren't I?"

"Yeah, I'm sure Grilka was blown away by your dashing cowardice," Miles grumbles.

"What if it _hadn't_ worked, and Gowron had let him kill you?" Keiko wonders.

"Well." Quark shifts his weight and squares his jaw. "I expect Odo would have revealed himself to be the bat'leth at the last minute. He's always following me places, spying on my affairs. Keeping me out of trouble. He'd never let someone else do his own dirty work."

"Right," Miles scoffs, taking another sip of his drink.

"You know I _never realized_ just how rewarding married life could be?" says Quark. "And so fleeting. It feels like... one moment she was there; the next, we were divorced."

"That's because you demanded it," says Miles. "Have you already forgotten?"

"Well of _course_ I demanded it, I can't run a bar _and_ be the head of a Klingon House." Quark rolls his shoulders back and reaches up to sweep his fingers alongside one ear, smirking smugly to himself. "It just wasn't meant to be. Two ships passing through a nebula. I'll probably never see her again."

"Quark, can we _please_ get back to our drinks and our _privacy_?" Miles says pointedly, glaring up at him.

Quark regards him for a moment with a subtle look of amusement, then leans in, enacting false subservience, squinting as he whispers, " _Of course_." With a bow, he backs away, and trots back down the stairs.

Keiko turns away from him to look at Miles, trying not to burst out laughing. Something about the whole encounter was just so absurd, she can't help, and she lets out a little giggle from behind her hand.

"Ugh, I thought he was _never_ gonna leave," he groans. He considers his drink but doesn't lift it, resting his fingers around the stem of the glass.

"He's just jealous of us," says Keiko, and is debating re-opening the topic of seeing people when a cry comes up from down below—the telltale " _Dabo_!"—and she turns to watch once again. She gazes over the celebrating players for a few long moments, studying the whole ritual.

"I never understood what people see in that game," she says finally. "Don't they ever get sick of it?"

Miles doesn't respond at first, then he goes on not responding, until finally Keiko turns and sees him still hunched over his glass, contemplating it, or contemplating something. He looks so terribly serious all of a sudden. With a sudden swell of nervousness—what's happened? What's he about to say?—she reaches across the table to him, but before she can speak, he beats her to it.

"Keiko," he says softly. "There's an agro-biology expedition leaving for the Janitza mountains on Bajor in two weeks. They need a chief botanist. I think you could probably qualify."

She stares at him, the tension leaving her, replaced by a gulf of confusion and unwillingness to comprehend. "On Bajor?" she says haltingly.

"That's right." Miles meets her eyes. "They've never surveyed these mountains. It's a very important expedition."

She can't believe what she's hearing, and yet she's hearing it. She almost resents it, that he's bringing up something she desperately wants to do, that she _knows_ she can't do. She swallows and says, "How long is this expedition supposed to last?"

He holds her gaze for a long moment. "Six months."

And there it is. She deflates at once, trying to laugh it off: "I can't leave you and Molly for six months."

And again, he cuts her off: "Look, you can take Molly with you. I've already checked. And as for me... well, Bajor's only three hours away on a runabout. We can manage."

Oh. _Oh_. She becomes belatedly aware that he is very, very serious. She can't do anything but stare at him, not sure how to respond, what the right response is. Does he _want_ her to say no? Why would he bring it up? Why _would_ he?"

She finally manages a laugh, albeit a faint, astonished one, and stammers, "When we moved here we made an agreement that—"

"I know."

"And I'm not trying to back out of that agreement!" _Yes_ , of course she wants to go to Bajor, she wants to see these mountains, she wants to be _outside_ again, among living things that aren't just in little pots in their quarters, but that can't be, she won't _let_ it be a consolation prize. "Don't let this business about the school make you feel guilty," she says, her wine leaving a bad taste in her mouth.

"Well this isn't about guilt!" he protests. "This is about _you_ being happy, and me _knowing_ that you're not."

Finally she meets his eyes again, after avoiding them, trying to talk herself out of this before he can talk her in. After a few stuttering false starts she says, "...I made a promise to stay with you and make this work."

"I know," he says. "But you're a botanist. That's what you're trained to do, that's what you love." He reaches across the table and takes her hand in his, raising it up to kiss it tenderly, and something in her melts. She wants to cry, and cry and cry; she's been so tired, so miserable, too unhappy to cry at all; when she's not afraid that any moment something will come out of the wormhole and destroy their lives, she's numb inside. And here's Miles, reminding her exactly why she needs him, that sometimes, every once in a while, _he_ is the strong one: "Be a botanist, Keiko. Be the best damn botanist in the galaxy."

And that does it. She does start to cry, a tearful smile breaking across her face, and the two of them hurriedly move their drinks aside as they reach across the table to embrace each other, holding on for their lives. She can already feel the anguish of six months looming—why can't she be a botanist _and_ have him at her side—but with that she feels a tremendous weight lift. She's going to be free.

"Thank you," she whispers, a few stray tears soaking into his uniform's collar.

"It's what you need," he replies, and finally they pull apart again, sitting back down, each breathing slowly, feeling bereft.

"I can't believe you went looking for an expedition for me," she says after a short silence, laughing her disbelief.

"Wasn't too hard to find," he says. "Though, actually, you really ought to thank Julian as well."

"Julian?" She sits up a little straighter, bright with curiosity. Well, there's an unexpected and welcome twist. "Why Julian?"

"It was sort of his idea," Miles admits. "I mean, not the expedition itself. We were talking, and... well, he convinced me that what you really need right now is to do your work again. I can't just keep you here on the station for the sake of our agreement. Our respective happiness is more important than our proximity to one another."

"Right," she says faintly, nodding. She almost can't believe it. She _can't_ believe it. "Well I'll be sure to thank him."

"Good." He smiles at her again, his eyes crinkling, and returns to his drink. "What d'you say we finish up here and hurry on back before it's time to pick Molly up?"

"I'd say that sounds like a plan," says Keiko, grinning at him.

Oh, but she would love to bring Julian back up, especially in conjunction with their earlier disrupted conversation. She would love that, but she thinks she deserves to have Miles all to herself tonight.

( ~~o~~ )

Julian has been reading about nucleotide sequencing for over an hour, and his eyes are starting to go weird. Has to be the damn lighting in the infirmary, so bright and harsh. He sits back and rubs at his face for a moment, giving both his eyes and his back a break from all the intent study, which is when he hears a footfall behind him.

"I was starting to wonder if you'd ever come," he says automatically, his tone going a bit sultry, getting up and turning and oh dear lord that's not Garak. Keiko stands there in place of his as-yet absent lunch partner, and, as if to allay any concerns he might have had about her being unwell, she is beaming at him.

"Er, Keiko!" he blurts. "Hi! Sorry, I thought you were—"

"Julian," she says, "I just wanted to thank you for... for talking to Miles."

"What?" For a moment he thinks she means _at all_ , but then he remembers their conversation in the Replimat the other day. "Oh. Oh! Has he... talked to you, then? Do you know what you're going to do?"

She nods. "I'm going to Bajor next week," she says. "He found me an expedition to survey the Janitza mountains, and I was able to get on as Chief Botanist, so... I'll be gone. For six months."

"Six..." He can't help a little incredulity at that. It is such a long time. Such a very, very long time to be without her and her very steady eyes.

"I'll be able to take Molly," she says. "So... it'll just be Miles for a while."

"Right," he says, recovering enough to smile. "Well. That's wonderful, Keiko. I'm so pleased." On a whim, he steps forward, offering her a hug, and she takes it gladly, wrapping her arms around his narrow frame. She smells very nice, he tries very hard not to notice.

"He told me about your conversation, and... it just really means a lot to me," she says, pulling away after too short a moment. "Listen, Julian... it's going to be hard for him. He'll pretend he's fine, because of course he will, but..."

"He's going to miss you terribly," Julian agrees. "As will I. Er. I mean. As will we all."

"Mmhm," she says, and gives him a smug smile that disarms him somewhat, or rather a lot. "I came by not just to thank you, but to ask a favor—would you look after him while I'm gone? I know you'll be spending a lot of time with Garak, but—"

"No!" Julian blurts. "I mean, yes! I mean—Garak and I—our arrangement is such that... we don't really have, erm, expectations about—I'll most certainly see to your husband, Mrs. O'Brien, not to worry on that front."

"Good." She's still smiling like that. "I know he'll appreciate it, even if he pretends he doesn't. He's like that, you know. You have to be _really_ patient. Honestly he's been that way with every one of our partners."

"Every one of your..." he gapes at her, not quite ready to believe he heard that right, "...partners?"

"We had quite a few over the years on the Enterprise," she says idly. "Nothing serious, mostly. Though we're not averse to that. With the right person."

She's still staring at him, and he's... he can't quite breathe. No, swallow. His throat is dry.

"I see," he says weakly.

"So," she says. "If you and Garak have an... understanding?"

"Yes." Julian wets his lips nervously, feeling a bit unbalanced. "We do."

"Well, I know Miles would really appreciate the company." Her eyes are _so_ very steady, always meeting his directly, Julian doesn't think he's ever met anyone quite like this. "As would I."

"Right." He swallows thickly. "Yes. I understand. I'll do my best."

"Thank you, Julian." She reaches out and gives his arm a gentle squeeze. "Really. Thank you."

He softens finally, allowing himself to ease up in the face of her earnest gratitude, and gives her a small, warm smile. "Of course, Keiko."

She seems to hesitate, like she's about to pull away, but instead she leans back in and plants a soft, delicate kiss on his cheek. Julian goes completely frozen at that, unable to think of the appropriate response until she's well on her way out. "See you in six months," she says with a little wave.

"See you," he says breathlessly, and then she's left, and he slumps back against his desk in shock.

( ~~-o-~~ )

The runabout to Bajor is scheduled to leave in only ten minutes, but Miles can't quite seem to let Keiko go. He hugs her long and hard, Molly clinging onto him from her perch in Keiko's arms. He and Keiko are both trying their best not to cry, mostly for Molly's benefit.

"We'll come visit as soon as we can," she whispers.

"I'll try to find some time," he replies. "I'd love to see you in your natural habitat."

She laughs and finally breaches the embrace, pulling back and resting her hand on his chest. "I love you so much," she says.

He covers her hand with his own, gazing fondly into her beautiful dark eyes. "I love you."

"Love you, Daddy," Molly says quietly.

He reaches out and strokes her hair. "If you ever have trouble sleeping, just have Mommy call on subspace and I'll read you a story," he says.

Molly nods. She's very sober; she knows something big is happening. "Okay."

Keiko squeezes his hand briefly and then pulls away, stepping into the open airlock. "I'll let you know as soon as we arrive," she says.

"Okay." Miles feels like his heart is being pulled out slowly. He can't stand this. They haven't been apart for a serious length of time pretty much since they got married.

"Listen." She sets Molly down and looks at him seriously. "I want you to start dating again. I don't want you holed up all alone in our quarters. Have fun. All right?"

"Wh..." Well, that's plum out of nowhere. He sputters for a moment before saying, "Are you serious? You want me to just meet someone? Without you?"

She shrugs. "Could be someone we already know," she says.

He scoffs. It's so like her, messing around with him like this at the last minute. "Like who," he says. "There's no one on this station we could—"

" _No one_?" She looks at him like she can't quite believe it, then her expression relaxes back into one of careful consideration. "What about Julian?"

That pulls him up short. He stares at her, fish-mouthing for a moment before he demands, "What _about_ Julian?"

"Mrs. O'Brien?" calls the runabout's pilot. "It's time to board, ma'am."

"All right, sounds like that's it for me," she says to Miles, taking Molly's hand. "Wave goodbye to Daddy, sweetheart."

"Bye Daddy, I love you!" Molly says, giving him a big, energetic wave.

"Love you too, darling," Miles says, giving her a small wave back. "Wait, Keiko, what do you mean about—"

"Gotta go," she says, leading Molly along with her through the airlock. "Just think about it, okay?"

Miles stands there, utterly befuddled, and watches the airlock doors roll shut, and listens as the docking clamps release, freeing the runabout to disappear into the vacuum of space. He just stands there, arms limp at his sides, staring at the airlock door, head full of static.

 


	6. Convergence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait for this one - got discouraged after losing some of it, then was on a trip for a while. Here it is, the last chapter and ~new beginning~ ooh.
> 
> First half of chapter's dialogue is from S3e22 - Explorers.

Miles does not think about it. He does everything he can to avoid thinking about it. This isn't terribly difficult; he is an old hand at not thinking about things. He does his work, keeps busy, misses Keiko. Interactions with Julian are as mutually fraught and friendly as they've ever been. This is fine.

After three months Keiko comes home tired and miserable, and they fight, and then they make up, and Julian never comes up once. Which is also fine.

It isn't until long after Keiko's return to Bajor that the subject finally becomes unavoidable. Julian has been out of sorts over the whole fiasco where Garak felt the need to detonate his own shop, and Miles has continued keeping his head down and enacting repairs (repairs that _wouldn't be necessary_ if not for all the damn Cardassian shenanigans), and then the Lexington docks, and Julian is suddenly pleading for his attention.

Elizabeth Lense—that's her name, the woman who beat Julian to valedictorian over a trick question, who is now Chief Medical Officer onboard the Lexington, and who has snubbed Julian outright during an attempted greeting in Quark's. Dropped his fragile little ego right into the cesspit of depressed introspection. With Garak-related matters still rocky (and Garak likely not being the best candidate to offer emotional advice), Miles becomes the instrument of consolation by default. He is no good at consolation. He also thinks the whole thing is a bit ridiculous.

The only solution is to drink.

They have been drinking for at least an hour, and Julian in particular has been drinking at an accelerated rate, forcing Miles to keep up, effectively pounding his very special decades-old Irish whiskey he'd been saving for some—apparently _this—_ special occasion.

It's all right though. In the state of total inebriation, Julian has revealed himself to be more interesting than Miles has ever let himself believe. They have a shared interest in history and old battles, that is Julian's typically naïve and bright-eyed rambling about the idyllic 'old days' prompted Miles to deliver a rousing lesson in the history of traditionally subpar British and Irish relations, before finally relenting and admitting that he is also something of a old-war buff. And this is how they wound up here, bottle almost empty, Keiko's favorite bonsai staring brownly at them from the coffee table, singing an old British battle hymn.

" _Briiing meee my chaaaariots of fiiiiiire_ ," they yowl in some kind of unison. They've each succumbed to the convenience of sitting on the floor, wedged between sofa and table. Miles conducts them with a tool grabbed hastily out of his kit. Julian seizes the bottle decisively and pours himself a new glass, spilling almost all of it on the table and not caring.

" _I will not ceeeease_ ," they carry on, " _from mental fiiiight—_ "

Julian has reached the bottle across Miles' chest in an attempt to refill his glass, and Miles, in hazy recognition that he has had _well enough by now_ , quickly covers his glass, muttering, "Nonono."

" _Nor shall my swooord_ ," Julian concedes, setting the bottle back down, " _sleep in my haaaand—_ " He cuts himself off with a hefty sip of his half-poured glass, choking his way through the next line: " _Till we have buiiiilt... Jeruuu-saa-lemmm... In England's green and pleasant laaand._ "

"Ha!" Miles declares triumphantly, setting his tool aside.

Julian sighs, shaking his head as though wistful about something. He's a very theatrical and blustery drunk, Miles has noticed.

"That was really beautiful, Chief," he says, and Miles grunts in agreement. "You know what we should do??"

Miles is finishing off the remainder of his glass. "What?"

Julian delivers his proposal in the manner of a sacred duty: "We should go to Quark's. And sing it. For everybody."

Miles stares at him for a long moment, trying to picture Julian standing up on a table bellowing about—no, no, that's a terrible idea. "No," he mumbles, leaning over close, "I-I-I think we should switch to synthale." That's the idea. A good one. Not a terrible one. He braces one hand on the sofa and the other on Julian's knee as he pushes himself up.

Julian objects dramatically, pointing at Miles with his mostly-empty glass. "No!" he declares. "No, this isn't..." and there goes the 'mostly' part, "a synthale kind of night." He slams the glass on the table, then hauls himself onto the sofa, gasping from the effort, sprawling out liquidly.

Well, Miles won't argue that going from top drawer whiskey to synthale is a downgrade in every sense, but he's still feeling the vague tug of responsibility, the clearest sign it's time to sober up. He orders a little bowl peanuts from the replicator, which seems an appropriate first step.

"She walked right past me, Chief," Julian moans, suddenly destitute. "Acted like I wasn't even _there_."

Miles sets the peanuts on the table and gazes at Julian for few beats. He doesn't much want to feed into these sullen histrionics, but he does find himself softening a bit, perhaps inevitably, on account of the liquor or—or something. And anyway, the whole thing has taken shape. Took shape right away. Julian doesn't see it, on account of he's an idiot.

So, feeling gregarious, Miles steps back to the sofa and leans over the back of it. "D'you know what I think?" he says in a hushed, vaguely paternal tone.

"What," Julian mumbles.

Miles is not getting through to him, so he corrects this by leaning down closer, practically draping himself over the sofa back and Julian as well. "I think she's in _love_ with you!"

Julian wrinkles his nose, unimpressed by the suggestion in spite of its physical proximity. "Nrh," he grunts, "I don't think so."

"It's the ONLY explanation!" Miles insists, a bit louder than he meant to, his hand landing on Julian's arm. He decides to clutch it. For emphasis. Julian still isn't convinced, just staring moodily into the distance, so Miles heaves himself off and staggers over to a chair. Need to sit. And eat the peanuts.

"Unless," he says, and he can't help it—he starts wheezing softly, snorting even, as he slumps into the chair, settling comfortably behind Julian's line of vision, and putting his feet up. "Unless she really... ignored you because... she can't stand you!" His voice gives way to adolescent cackling, and his efforts to cover his face are only barely in the spirit of stifling it. Poor Julian. All out of sorts, and Miles can't stop laughing because just—just _think_ of it, Elizabeth Lense avoiding the Doctor's awkward, interminable, incessantly one-sided conversation by just _walking right past him_. It's brilliant. Why didn't he ever think of that?

Julian is, by now, rather disgruntled, though whether by Miles' unhelpful giggling or the suggestion itself remains unclear. "Isn't there some explanation in be _tween_?" he whines, his voice actually cracking on the last syllable.

Miles lowers his hand from his face, reining himself in now, glancing about the room for purchase. "Well..." He shifts his weight, dropping his feet, trying to affect a more serious posture. "Y-you're not an in-between kinda guy," he says matter-of-factly, and reaches for the peanuts.

Julian hesitates, then twists, leaning his head back to peer at Miles, who ignores him for now. "Wha'd'you mean?" he murmurs, soft and somehow innocent.

Poor kid. Miles doesn't want to offend him, not exactly. He keeps his tone neutral, gesturing with the peanut. "Well, people either love you," he says, "or hate you." He shrugs and pops the peanut into his mouth.

Julian sniffs, like a boy trying to decide if he's going to eat his vegetables or not, and turns away. "Really?"

"I mean—" says Miles, crunching loudly. Keiko would get after him for talking with his mouth full, but she's not here is she. He leans back over the sofa. "I _hated_ you when we first met!"

To his credit, Julian just nods, blowing out a puff of air. "I remember."

Right. There. They can acknowledge it like adults. Miles turns back to his peanuts. "But now," he says, and that's that.

He takes his time picking out the next peanut he wants to eat—he goes by shapes, which shape looks most appetizing. Federation replicators always make them too uniform, but the Cardie ones have a bit more uniqueness, probably due to some mild processing variances. One point in their favor.

Julian has, during this important study, turned to peer at him once again. "And now?" he prompts.

Miles looks up, momentarily lost in the wilderness— _now, what?—_ and then it, _it_ , the implication and all that goes with it, dawns on him and he stops chewing abruptly. "Well," he says, his voice entering the soft, high register it hits whenever he realizes he needs to back down, and quick: "...Now I don't."

There. He nods and goes on eating.

It works. It never works on _Keiko_ , but Julian just turns away and says, voice thick with emotion, "That means a lot to me, Chief. It really does."

There! He got it, all fine, no floundering around in messy ridiculous _implications_. And he even got choked up! Emboldened, Miles gets up for another session of leaning over the sofa. "Really!" he says. "Now..." He prods Julian in the shoulder. "And that is from the _heart_ , huh?" Julian nods, bolstered, and Miles continues: "Huh? I really _do_!" He hovers there for a moment, proud of himself, like he just fixed a computer. Julian's looking much less somber now. Actually he's looking curious. Actually he's looking this way. Oh god damn it he did it again.

"...Not hate you anymore!" he clarifies.

This time, there's a beat. This time, Julian holds his gaze a little longer, a little too long, just a very little too-long bit. Then he turns away, sighs. Almost like. Almost like disappointed.

Nooonono. Miles has to pick things back up. Find a thing to latch onto. "Hey," he says, touching him again, lightly this time, to get his attention. "Do you know what I think?" Enough leaning. His knees are protesting the outrage. He gets up and blunders his way back around the sofa to resume his original position.

"Nyuh," says Julian.

Miles sits beside him, misjudges the distance so his hand lands on Julian's, which is fine, it's _fine_ , it's just a _hand_ , leans in close to gesture emphatically into the young man's face, listen here, let's cut to the heart of this, like _adults_ : "If you want to know why she ignored you," and oh, oh dear, Julian's looking at him again and they are very close, aren't they? Miles' depth perception has gone a bit weird, but he presses on doggedly because this is _fine_ and _straightforward_ , "you have _got_ to confront her!"

Blessedly that does the trick, tacks Julian's mind to the subject at hand, and in an instant he's turned away again. "You're right!" he says, immediately energized. He starts to sit up, and Miles, caught off guard by the sudden movement, follows him forward, somehow still holding onto his bloody _hand_. "I gotta go _right_ up to her...!"

He's having trouble standing, and Miles' grip on his hand takes on a helpful purpose and he offers his weight and helps steady him on his way up. "E-e- _e_ -easy, easy," he patters.

"—and—and _ask_ her, FLAT out..." On his own two feet now, Julian staggers across the room and wheels back, thumbing over his shoulder, "Where she gets _off,_ w-walking _past_ me like that!"

Miles scrutinizes him for a moment, not unlike he'd done with his snacks a moment earlier. Julian does have a rather good shape. Is an absurd thought he does not think. "Better wait until tomorrow," he says.

"Why?!" Julian spreads his arms, all drama as usual, and then angles his hand sharply at the table. "Why not right _now_?"

"Because," says Miles, "you can barely stand _up_ right now."

Julian falters, considering the point with due concentration. Then he points at Miles, judicious and with the air of a man engaged in rousing academic debate. "Good point. Good point." He starts to toddle back over to the sofa, and whispers again, "Good point." At this juncture he seems to decide he is not going to make it and collapses instead on their opposing sofa, sprawling gawkily over it. Miles finds himself getting up, for what purpose he does not know. Needing a reason, he swipes Julian's glass off the table, irresponsibly sloshes a little more from the bottle into it, and makes his stumbling way over to Julian, sprawling, gawky. Gawky and long and, and, there are all kinds of adjectives sort of scrambling around Miles' addled wits, very unhelpful things like _lean_ and _lithe_ and _this is not what Keiko meant._ Not drunk and stupid and, and, and—

" _AAAAND did those feeeeeet_ ," Julian yowls helpfully.

Automatic, Miles joins him: " _In ancient tiiiime—_ here," he adds, lowering the glass into Julian's hand.

Julian steals a sip and is late singing the next line, resulting in them being off several beats from one another, an offset which lasts for a few lines more before Miles can't keep it up and just starts laughing, and Julian lifts his head with some effort.

"What?" he blurts. "Wha's so funny?"

"Y-you are," Miles hoots faintly. He hunches over, bracing one hand on his knee. Why does he keep getting up? He just wants to be _down_. Sitting, maybe, or prone. Julian had the right idea there.

"Wh'd I do?" Julian mumbles, dropping his head back down, gazing at the ceiling.

Miles isn't rightly sure, and isn't sure how to answer, and he's distracted trying to make his way back over to the other sofa where it's safe, and where the peanuts are closer, and then his already put-upon knees collide with Julian's dangling feet—there he goes misjudging distances again—and he stumbles in earnest and falls, oh god, oh no, falls right down onto—

"Hwuh!" Julian gasps, just narrowly managing to lift the glass out from between them and drop it safely onto the carpeted floor. Miles has winded him, an elbow connecting with his sternum, and he coughs, struggling to right his breathing, or re-orient himself, or—Miles can't seem to pick himself up, divided between embarrassment at his own spectacular clumsiness and concern for how badly his injured his friend, and—

"Why, Chief," Julian rasps, gazing up at him with a smug little grin. "I didn't know you had it in you."

Well, if that doesn't just run Miles right aground. He stares down at the young man, the smug grin, the bright wandering eyes, the _sheer audacity_ , and says, "What?!"

Julian's eyes are darting all around, alert and indecisive about what to settle upon, but then they fix on Miles' own. "Oh, I," he stammers, not like his usual stammer, this time it's a clear affectation, hiding mischief. "I just didn't think this was how—"

"How _what_?" Miles demands, resolutely ignoring the inherent absurdity in maintaining indignation while still looming over Julian, more or less pinning him down.

Finally, Julian falters in earnest, blinking sudden uncertainty. "I thought—I, I don't know."

"Damn right you don't," says Miles, effectively showing his entire hand. He almost gets up, but still seems stuck, hovering, waiting for some unclear prompt. Softening some, he grumbles, "You all right?"

"I'm," Julian says, breathless, probably because Miles just knocked the air out of him. Probably. "Well, I'm going to have to concoct the mother of all hangover cures tomorrow."

"Save some for me," says Miles, letting himself relax a little, letting himself smirk.

"Chief," says Julian. He's getting closer. How did that happen?

"Yes," says Miles. His arms are tired of holding him up.

Julian hesitates for just a moment too long, his lips parting before he manages to speak: "Are you going to—"

Miles can't hold himself up anymore. Moreoever, he doesn't want to.

Julian tastes like whiskey, well, they both do, it's not a good time to determine these sorts of details. It's no good, naturally, drunk and sloppy and confused; he just sort of fell into it, and Julian was the one who kissed _him_ , or something like that. Julian is kissing him. He doesn't seem to know whether he wants to keep it up or not, one hand tangling into Miles' curls and the other bracing on his chest. Miles pulls back an inch, still too, too close, and Julian's eyes are roaming again, tracking over his face.

"What are we doing?" he says, definitely breathless.

"I dunno," Miles admits.

"Have you—does Keiko—"

"We—" Miles sighs, frustrated with the sudden need for discussion, and with a begrudging burst of effort he extricates himself, pulling up, shoving Julian's legs off the sofa to make room to sit. Julian emits an apparently involuntary whine at the loss of contact, falls halfway onto the floor, then struggles back up to sit beside him. "We have an open marriage. Always have had."

"Oh," Julian says, sounding only vaguely accusatory.

"Well we don't make it everyone's business," Miles snaps.

"I mean I—I had a suspicion," says Julian. It seems like the shock of being an impact site and the complications of being unpreparedly kissed are sobering him up. Probably a good thing, but Miles can't help feeling irritable over it. "Keiko told me—well."

"Told you?" Miles blinks up at him, eyes bleary but starting to get clearer. "Told you what?"

"I—" Julian swallows heavily. " _This_. Your arrangement. In a manner of speaking. She implied it. Heavily. Implied that you would be, erm... interested."

Miles opens his mouth but can't seem to find the words he needs. Whatever those are.

"It was right before she left the first time," says Julian hurriedly. "Ages ago. I mean, until now I thought I'd... misunderstood." He sits there, angled inward toward Miles, his shoulders slumped. He's trying so hard to be serious, choosing his vocabulary very cautiously, with visible care. Too drunk for that usual effortless manner. "She didn't discuss it with you?"

"Well she told me—I mean, she said I should—consider..." Miles can't seem to string together a full sentence. It all makes sense, of course, that Keiko would have set this in motion. The innocuous questions, the knowing smiles, the _dinner_ , and when Miles failed to piece it all together on his own, she made it blunt with that confounding passing remark.

"I wasn't sure what the, er, terms were," Julian babbles. "Whether you both had to—I mean—if you need to talk to her first I'd completely understand, I don't want to—I just thought—"

"Julian," says Miles, not quite looking at him. Fixing on his hand instead, his taut knuckles.

"Yes," says Julian sheepishly.

"Do us all a favor," says Miles, and drags his eyes back to the Doctor's, "and shut up for a while."

He doesn't have a real plan here, though he's distantly aware that would have been the opportune moment to kiss him again. Julian simply closes his mouth, and then, when nothing else happens, he sinks forward, wraps his fingers tightly into the front of Miles' uniform, and resumes the kiss for them both. Miles is quick to respond in the affirmative, _yes let's please get on with this, no more bloody parameters_ , and his hands go to grip at Julian's shoulders, his upper arms, holding him tight enough that Julian sucks a startled little breath through his nose. He doesn't stop though. His free hand finds its way to Miles' jaw, cupping around it, which is a little comical, Miles thinks, a little too romantic, like they're a pair of teenagers. Julian has a flair for that, of course. Julian is very young, and very _something_ , and Miles is so far outside his world, and he doesn't understand _why_ , why this young, clever, loud, bright _something_ wants to be a part of his drab interior life, his life that is so empty and quiet without Keiko in it.

This is a question that are going to gnaw at him, even if he'd rather banish it under the haze of alcohol and the thrill of endorphins. He pulls back again, leaving Julian bereft, leaning in even as Miles holds him at bay.

Instead of asking outright, instead of approaching the dilemma direct, he says wryly, "I don't know if it's lucky or a shame we couldn't have had all this out with Keiko here. You know, when Mrs. Troi was... visiting."

"Ah," says Julian, vaguely baffled. "Yes, well. Wouldn't have happened. There is nothing _latent_ about my attraction to you or Mrs. O'Brien."

Miles' eyebrows lift, he reels back a little. "Both of us," he says.

"Oh, yes," says Julian, giving him a quick, nervous nod. "I mean I'm, I've never been exclusive, with anyone, but it's never been like—I was attracted to you when I met you, and her too, but when I saw you _together_ , it was like... seeing into something I'd never really seen before. The way you are with each other, it's... it's different. More." His eyes droop downward, as though mulling something over. "Not that I object to this. I don't think I would object to anything involving you and/or Mrs. O'Brien."

Now that Julian's dodging eye contact, Miles can't stop staring at him, feeling some kind of tingling awareness prickle over his skin. Near as he can tell, it's the realization that this, right here, is new, different, a kind of warmth he's never felt before, not with any of their partners, not with anyone apart from Keiko. Julian wants _him_ , he wants _Keiko_ , he wants _them_ , not what they have, but what they are, together, as a unit. That's never happened before, not quite like this. Still struggling against drunkenness and the pull toward deceptively simple physical pleasure, Miles knows, clear as day, he wants to grab hold of this, and not let go.

"Is... is that all right?" Julian says finally. Miles didn't realize it was taking him so long to put thoughts in order. "Chief?"

"I think you can call me Miles now," he says, and this time he moves in slow and leans Julian back, an arm supporting his back and head, dipping him as romantic as he damn well pleases.

( ~~-o-~~ )

When her next visit finally comes, Keiko arrives smiling. Molly drowses on her shoulder and Miles and Julian stand together, sheepish, apprehensive, excited. Standing quite close to one another, not even realizing it. Which is a very fine sight. It only took them three years.

"So good to see you both," she says softly, indulging Miles first, leaning in with a slow, gentle kiss. Miles lifts his hand to stroke Molly's hair, and she wakes up enough to stretch her arms out to him, and he takes her onto his own shoulder.

Keiko sets her bag down and turns her smirk on the Doctor, who looks quite pleasantly nervous. "Julian."

"Mrs. O'Brien," he says breathily.

"Don't you 'Mrs. O'Brien' me, young man," she says, and that calls for a demonstration. Public is usually reserved for Miles, and it's clear both Miles and Julian expected some sort of three-way conversation first, but after the wait she's been through, generously letting Miles figure this out for himself, and with Julian looking so embarrassed and calling her _Mrs. O'Brien,_ she's in no mood to stand on ceremony. She crooks her fingers around his chin and draws him down, whole-heartedly enjoying the muted little gasp he muffles against her mouth.

"Oh," says Miles, sounding a little torn between surprise and intrigue.

Keiko releases Julian in short order and he springs back up to his full height, flustered beyond recourse. " _Oh_ is right," he says with some semblance of his usual grace, glancing at her husband. They already have a remarkable rapport, well, a fine-tuning of the rapport they already had. She has a lot of catching up to do.

"Is that what we're doing now?" says Miles.

"You don't expect me to put it off until we're all the way to the habitat ring," she says matter-of-factly, and picks up her bag and hands it to him. "I've been waiting for you boys to get your act together for literal years."

"You could've said something," Miles points out, shifting Molly in his arm as he slings her bag over his other shoulder. Their conversation, inscrutable to her or no, is starting to rouse her.

"Where's the fun in that?" says Julian quite dryly, which draws a laugh from Keiko, and she rests a hand on his narrow chest.

"Why don't you both walk me home," she says. "I hope you didn't kill all my trees."

"Ju'yan," Molly says says in a sleepy mumble.

"Hello," he says, ducking his head down slightly to meet her eye level.

"Molly, Julian's going to start spending more time around Mommy and Daddy," says Keiko, turning back to her daughter. "He's going to be part of our family now. Won't that be nice?"

"Yeah!" Molly reaches out to Julian, who is standing stock still, staring at her with an expression she wants to hold onto for the rest of her life. Not just stunned, not just happy, but _relieved_. It's exactly how she's sure she looked when Miles finally proposed.

"You wanna carry her?" Miles asks, looking a little bit stunned himself.

"Y-yes, all right," says Julian. He takes her little clumsily, but she clings onto him at once, making his job easier. He looks out of place with a child hanging on him, but it's a sweet picture, and it allows Keiko to thread her arm through Miles'.

"Come on," she says, and leads their little procession home.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] The Trouble With Miles](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14094075) by [cantarina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cantarina/pseuds/cantarina)




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